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JJlen  of  Cetter0 

EDITED  BY  JOHN  MORLEY 


DAVID  HUME 


Ibume 


THOMAS  HENRY   HUXLEY,  F.R.S. 

AUTHOR  OF 

"A  MANUAL  OF  THE  ANATOMY  OF  VERTEBRATED 
ANIMALS"  ETC. 


Bnglisb  /K>en  of  Xetters 

EDITED  BY 

JOHN   MORLEY 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 
1902 


/mi 


CONTENTS. 

PART  L— HUME'S  LIFE. 
CHAPTER  I. 

PAHE 

BARLY  LIFE :    LITERARY  AND  POLITICAL  WRITINGS  ...        1 

CHAPTER  II. 

LATER  YEARS :    THE  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND      .      .      .      .      ,      25 

PART  IL— HUME'S  PHILOSOPHY. 
CHAPTER  I. 

THE   OBJECT  AND  SCOPE  OF  PHILOSOPHY     .      ...      .      .      46 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  MIND 59 

CHAPTER  III. 

ORIGIN  OF  THE  IMPRESSIONS 72 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  CLASSIFICATION  AND  THE  NOMENCLATURE  OF  MENTAL 

OPERATIONS 87 

CHAPTER  V. 

MENTAL  PHENOMENA  Of  ANIMALS  ....    101 


T!  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

MM 
LANGUAGE :  PROPOSITIONS  CONCERNING  NECESSARY  TRUTHS   112 

CHAPTER  VII. 

ORDER  OF  NATURE  :    MIRACLES 127 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THEISM :    EVOLUTION  OP  THEOLOGY 138 

CHAPTER  LX. 

THE  SOUL :    THE  DOCTRINE  OF  IMMORTALITY 163 

CHAPTER  X. 
VOLITION:  LIBERTY  AND  NECESSITY 181 

CHAPTER  XL 

TIIK  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS .1,1," 


HUME. 

PART  I 

HTJM&S  LIFE. 
CHAPTER  I. 

KARLY    LIFE  I    LITERARY    AND    POLITICAL   WRITINGS. 

DAVID  HUME  was  born  in  Edinburgh  on  the  26th  of  April 
(O.S.),  1711.  His  parents  were  then  residing  in  the  parish 
of  the  Tron  Church,  apparently  on  a  visit  to  the  Scottish 
capital,  as  the  small  estate  which  his  father,  Joseph  Hume, 
or  Home,  inherited,  lay  in  Berwickshire,  on  the  banks  of 
the  Whitadder,  or  Whitewater,  a  few  miles  from  the  bor- 
der, and  within  sight  of  English  ground.  The  paternal 
mansion  was  little  more  than  a  very  modest  farmhouse,1 
and  the  property  derived  its  name  of  Ninewells  from  a 

1  A  picture  of  the  house,  taken  from  Drummond's  Hktory  of  No- 
ble British  Families,  is  to  be  seen  in  Chambers's  Book  of  Days  (April 
26th) ;  and  if,  as  Drummond  says,  "  It  is  a  favourable  specimen  of 
the  best  Scotch  lairds'  houses,"  all  that  can  be  said  is  that  the  worst 
Scotch  lairds  must  have  been  poorly  lodged  indeed. 
36 


2  HUME.  [CHAP. 

considerable   spring,  which  breaks  out   on  the  slope  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  falls  into  the  Whitadder. 

Both  mother  and  father  came  of  good  Scottish  families 
— the  paternal  line  running  back  to  Lord  Home  of  Doug- 
las, who  went  over  to  France  with  the  Douglas  during  the 
French  wars  of  Henry  V.  and  VI.,  and  was  killed  at  the 
battle  of  Verneuil.  Joseph  Hume  died  when  David  was 
an  infant,  leaving  himself  and  two  elder  children,  a  broth- 
er and  a  sister,  to  the  care  of  their  mother,  who  is  de- 
scribed by  David  Hume  in  My  Own  Life  as  "  a  woman 
of  singular  merit,  who,  though  young  and  handsome,  de- 
voted herself  entirely  to  the  rearing  and  education  of  her 
children."  Mr.  Burton  says :  "  Her  portrait,  which  I  have 
seen,  represents  a  thin  but  pleasing  countenance,  expres- 
sive of  great  intellectual  acuteness;"  and  as  Hume  told 
Dr.  Black  that  she  had  "  precisely  the  same  constitution 
with  himself"  and  died  of  the  disorder  which  proved 
fatal  to  him,  it  is  probable  that  the  qualities  inherited 
from  his  mother  had  much  to  do  with  the  future  philos- 
opher's eminence.  It  is  curious,  however,  that  her  esti- 
mate of  her  son  in  her  only  recorded,  and  perhaps  slightly 
apocryphal  utterance,  is  of  a  somewhat  unexpected  char- 
acter. "  Our  Davie's  a  fine,  good-natured  crater,  but  un- 
common wake-minded."  The  first  part  of  the  judgment 
was  indeed  verified  by  "Davie's"  whole  life;  but  one 
might  seek  in  vain  for  signs  of  what  is  commonly  un- 
derstood as  "  weakness  of  mind  "  in  a  man  who  not  only 
showed  himself  to  be  an  intellectual  athlete,  but  who  had 
an  eminent  share  of  practical  wisdom  and  tenacity  of 
purpose.  One  would  like  to  know,  however,  when  it  was 
that  Mrs.  Hume  committed  herself  to  this  not  too  flatter- 
ing judgment  of  her  younger  son.  For  as  Hume  reached 
the  mature  age  of  four-and-thirty  before  he  obtained  any 


i.]  CHILDHOOD  AND  EDUCATION.  3 

employment  of  sufficient  importance  to  convert  the  mea- 
gre pittance  of  a  middling  laird's  younger  brother  into  a 
decent  maintenance,  it  is  not  improbable  that  a  shrewd 
Scot's  wife  may  have  thought  his  devotion  to  philosophy 
and  poverty  to  be  due  to  mere  infirmity  of  purpose.  But 
she  lived  till  1749,  long  enough  to  see  more  than  the 
dawn  of  her  son's  literary  fame  and  official  importance, 
and  probably  changed  her  mind  about  "Davie's"  force  of 
character. 

David  Hume  appears  to  have  owed  little  to  schools 
or  universities.  There  is  some  evidence  that  he  entered 
the  Greek  class  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh  in  1723 
— when  he  was  a  boy  of  twelve  years  of  age — but  it  is 
not  known  how  long  his  studies  were  continued,  and  he 
did  not  graduate.  In  1727,  at  any  rate,  he  was  living  at 
Ninewells,  and  already  possessed  by  that  love  of  learning 
and  thirst  for  literary  fame,  which,  as  My  Own  Life  tells 
us,  was  the  ruling  passion  of  his  life  and  the  chief  source 
of  his  enjoyments.  A  letter  of  this  date,  addressed  to 
his  friend  Michael  Ramsay,  is  certainly  a  most  singular 
production  for  a  boy  of  sixteen.  After  sundry  quotations 
from  Virgil,  the  letter  proceeds : — 

"  The  perfectly  wise  man  that  outbraves  fortune,  is  much 
greater  than  the  husbandman  who  slips  by  her ;  and,  indeed, 
this  pastoral  and  saturnian  happiness  I  have  in  a  great  meas- 
ure come  at  just  now.  I  live  like  a  king,  pretty  much  by 
myself,  neither  full  of  action  nor  perturbation — mottes  somnos. 
This  state,  however,  I  can  foresee,  is  not  to  be  relied  on.  My 
peace  of  mind  is  not  sufficiently  confirmed  by  philosophy  to 
withstand  the  blows  of  fortune.  This  greatness  and  eleva- 
tion of  soul  is  to  be  found  only  in  study  and  contempla- 
tion. This  alone  can  teach  us  to  look  down  on  human  ac- 
cidents. You  must  allow  [me]  to  talk  thus  like  a  philoso- 
1* 


4  HUME.  [CHAP. 

pher :  'tis  a  subject  I  think  much  on,  and  could  talk  all  day 
long  of." 

If  David  talked  in  this  strain  to  his  mother,  her  tongue 
probably  gave  utterance  to  "  Bless  the  bairn !"  and,  in 
her  private  soul,  the  epithet  "wake-minded"  may  then 
have  recorded  itself.  But,  though  few  lonely,  thought- 
ful, studious  boys  of  sixteen  give  vent  to  their  thoughts 
in  such  stately  periods,  it  is  probable  that  the  brooding 
over  an  ideal  is  commoner  at  this  age  than  fathers  and 
mothers,  busy  with  the  cares  of  practical  life,  are  apt  to 
imagine. 

About  a  year  later,  Hume's  family  tried  to  launch  him 
into  the  profession  of  the  law ;  but,  as  he  tells  us,  "  while 
they  fancied  I  was  poring  upon  Voet  and  Vinnius,  Cicero 
and  Virgil  were  the  authors  which  I  was  secretly  devour- 
ing," and  the  attempt  seems  to  have  come  to  an  abrupt 
termination.  Nevertheless,  as  a  very  competent  author- 
ity1 wisely  remarks : — 

"  There  appear  to  have  been  in  Hume  all  the  elements  of 
which  a  good  lawyer  is  made :  clearness  of  judgment,  power 
of  rapidly  acquiring  knowledge,  untiring  industry,  and  dia- 
lectic skill :  and  if  his  mind  had  not  been  preoccupied,  he 
might  have  fallen  into  the  gulf  in  which  many  of  the  world's 
greatest  geniuses  lie  buried  —  professional  eminence;  and 
might  have  left  behind  him  a  reputation  limited  to  the  tra- 
ditional recollections  of  the  Parliament-house,  or  associated 
with  important  decisions.  He  was  through  life  an  able, 
clear-headed  man  of  business,  and  I  have  seen  several  legal 

1  Mr.  John  Hill  Burton,  in  his  valuable  Life  of  Hume,  on  which,  I 
need  hardly  say,  I  have  drawn  freely  for  the  materials  of  the  present 
biographical  sketch, 


i.]  FALSE  STARTS.  5 

documents,  written  in  his  own  hand  and  evidently  drawn  by 
himself.  They  stand  the  test  of  general  professional  obser- 
vation; and  their  writer,  by  preparing  documents  of  facts 
of  such  a  character  on  his  own  responsibility,  showed  that 
he  had  considerable  confidence  in  his  ability  to  adhere  to 
the  forms  adequate  for  the  occasion.  He  talked  of  it  as  '  an 
ancient  prejudice  industriously  propagated  by  the  dunces 
in  all  countries,  that  a  man  of  genius  is  unfit  for  business,'1 
and  he  showed,  in  his  general  conduct  through  life,  that  he 
iid  not  choose  to  come  voluntarily  under  this  proscription." 

Six  years  longer  Hume  remained  at  Ninewells  before  he 
made  another  attempt  to  embark  in  a  practical  career — 
this  time  commerce — and  with  a  like  result.  For  a  few 
months'  trial  proved  that  kind  of  life,  also,  to  be  hopeless- 
ly against  the  grain. 

It  was  while  in  London,  on  his  way  to  Bristol,  where 
he  proposed  to  commence  his  mercantile  life,  that  Hume 
addressed  to  some  eminent  London  physician  (probably, 
as  Mr.  Burton  suggests,  Dr.  George  Cheyne)  a  remarkable 
letter.  Whether  it  was  ever  sent  seems  doubtful ;  but  it 
shows  that  philosophers  as  well  as  poets  have  their  Wer- 
terian  crises,  and  it  presents  an  interesting  parallel  to  John 
Stuart  Mill's  record  of  the  corresponding  period  of  his 
youth.  The  letter  is  too  long  to  be  given  in  full,  but  a 
few  quotations  may  suffice  to  indicate  its  importance  to 
those  who  desire  to  comprehend  the  man. 

"You  must  know  then  that  from  my  earliest  infancy  I 
found  always  a  strong  inclination  to  books  and  letters.  As 
our  college  education  in  Scotland,  extending  little  further 
than  the  languages,  ends  commonly  when  we  are  about  four- 
teen or  fifteen  years  of  age,  I  was  after  that  left  to  my  own 
choice  in  my  reading,  and  found  it  incline  me  almost  equal- 
ly to  books  of  reasoning  and  philosophy,  and  to  poetry  and 


«  HUME.  [CHAP. 

the  polite  authors.  Every  one  who  is  acquainted  either  with 
the  philosophers  or  critics,  knows  that  there  is  nothing  yet 
established  in  either  of  these  two  sciences,  and  that  they 
contain  little  more  than  endless  disputes,  even  in  the  most 
fundamental  articles.  Upon  examination  of  tb'e'se,  I  found  a 
certain  boldness  of  temper  growing  on  me,  which  was  not 
inclined  to  submit  to  any  authority  in  these  subjects,  but  led 
me  to  seek  out  some  new  medium,  by  which  truth  might  be 
established.  After  much  study  and  reflection  on  this,  at  last, 
when  I  was  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  there  seemed  to  be 
opened  up  to  me  a  new  scene  of  thought,  which  transport- 
ed me  beyond  measure,  and  made  me,  with  an  ardour  natu- 
ral to  young  men,  throw  up  every  other  pleasure  or  business 
to  apply  entirely  to  it.  The  law,  which  was  the  business  I 
designed  to  follow,  appeared  nauseous  to  me,  and  I  could 
think  of  no  other  way  of  pushing  my  fortune  in  the  world 
but  that  of  a  scholar  and  philosopher.  I  was  infinitely  happy 
in  this  course  of  life  for  some  months ;  till  at  last,  about  the 
beginning  of  September,  1729,  all  my  ardour  seemed  in  a 
moment  to  be  extinguished,  and  I  could  no  longer  raise  my 
mind  to  that  pitch  which  formerly  gave  me  such  excessive 
pleasure." 

This  "  decline  of  soul "  Hume  attributes,  in  part,  to  his 
being  smitten  with  the  beautiful  representations  of  virtue 
in  the  works  of  Cicero,  Seneca,  and  Plutarch,  and  being 
thereby  led  to  discipline  his  temper  and  his  will  along 
with  his  reason  and  understanding. 

"I  was  continually  fortifying  myself  with  reflections 
against  death,  and  poverty,  and  shame,  and  pain,  and  all  the 
other  calamities  of  life." 

And  he  adds,  very  characteristically : — 

"  These,  no  doubt,  are  exceeding  useful  when  joined  with 
an  active  life,  because  the  occasion  being  presented  along 
with  the  reflection,  works  it  into  the  soul,  and  makes  it  take 


/.]  TRIES  MERCANTILE  LIFE.  7 

a  deep  impression ;  but,  in  solitude,  they  serve  to  little  other 
purpose  than  to  waste  the  spirits,  the  force  of  the  mind  meet- 
ing no  resistance,  but  wasting  itself  in  the  air,  like  our  arm 
when  it  misses  its  aim." 

Along  with  all  this  mental  perturbation,  symptoms  of 
scurvy,  a  disease  now  almost  unknown  among  landsmen, 
but  which,  in  the  days  of  winter,  salt  meat,  before  root 
crops  flourished  in  the  Lothians,  greatly  plagued  our  fore- 
fathers, made  their  appearance.  And,  indeed,  it  may  be 
suspected  that  physical  conditions  were,  at  first,  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  whole  business;  for, in  1731,  a  ravenous  appe- 
tite set  in,  and  in  six  weeks,  from  being  tall,  lean,  and  raw- 
boned,  Hume  says  he  became  sturdy  and  robust,  with  a 
ruddy  complexion  and  a  cheerful  countenance — eating, 
sleeping,  and  feeling  well,  except  that  the  capacity  for  in- 
tense mental  application  seemed  to  be  gone.  He,  there- 
fore, determined  to  seek  out  a  more  active  life;  and, 
though  he  could  not  and  would  not "  quit  his  pretensions 
to  learning  but  with  his  last  breath,"  he  resolved  "  to  lay 
them  aside  for  some  time,  in  order  the  more  effectually  to 
resume  them." 

The  careers  open  to  a  poor  Scottish  gentleman  in  those 
days  were  very  few ;  and,  as  Hume's  option  lay  between  a 
travelling  tutorship  and  a  stool  in  a  merchant's  office,  he 
chose  the  latter. 

"  And  having  got  recommendation  to  a  considerable  trad- 
er in  Bristol,  I  am  just  now  hastening  thither,  with  a  resolu- 
tion to  forget  myself,  and  everything  that  is  past,  to  engage 
myself,  as  far  as  is  possible,  in  that  course  of  life,  and  to  toss 
about  the  world  from  one  pole  to  the  other,  till  I  leave  this 
distemper  behind  me."1 

1  One  cannot  but  be  reminded  of  young  Descartes'  renunciation  of 
study  for  soldiering. 


8  HUME.  [CHAP. 

But  it  was  all  of  no  use — Nature  would  have  her  way 
— and  in  the  middle  of  1736,  David  Hume,  aged  twenty- 
three,  without  a  profession  or  any  assured  means  of  earn- 
ing a  guinea ;  and  having  doubtless,  by  his  apparent  vac- 
illation, but  real  tenacity  of  purpose,  once  more  earned  the 
title  of  "  wake-minded  "  at  home ;  betook  himself  to  a  for- 
eign country. 

"  I  went  over  to  France,  with  a  view  of  prosecuting  my 
studies  in  a  country  retreat :  and  there  I  laid  that  plan  of 
life  which  I  have  steadily  and  successfully  pursued.  I  re- 
solved to  make  a  very  rigid  frugality  supply  my  deficiency 
of  fortune,  to  maintain  unimpaired  my  independency,  and  to 
regard  every  object  as  contemptible  except  the  improvement 
of  my  talents  in  literature."1 

Hume  passed  through  Paris  on  his  way  to  Rheims, 
where  he  resided  for  some  time ;  though  the  greater  part 
of  his  three  years'  stay  was  spent  at  La  Fleche,  in  fre- 
quent intercourse  with  the  Jesuits  of  the  famous  college 
in  which  Descartes  was  educated.  Here  he  composed 
his  first  work,  the  Treatise  of  Human  Nature;  though  it 
would  appear,  from  the  following  passage  in  the  letter  to 
Cheyne,  that  he  had  been  accumulating  materials  to  that 
end  for  some  years  before  he  left  Scotland. 

"  I  found  that  the  moral  philosophy  transmitted  to  us  by 
antiquity  laboured  under  the  same  inconvenience  that  has 
been  found  in  their  natural  philosophy,  of  being  entirely  hy- 
pothetical, and  depending  more  upon  invention  than  experi- 
ence :  every  one  consulted  his  fancy  in  erecting  schemes  of 
virtue  and  happiness,  without  regarding  human  nature,  upon 
which  every  moral  conclusion  must  depend." 

1  My  Own  Lift. 


t]  RESIDENCE  IN  FRANCE.  9 

This  is  the  key-note  of  the  Treatise;  of  which  Hume 
himself  says  apologetically,  in  one  of  his  letters,  that  it 
was  planned  before  he  was  twenty-one  and  composed  be- 
fore he  had  reached  the  age  of  twenty-five.1 

Under  these  circumstances,  it  is  probably  the  most  re- 
markable philosophical  work,  both  intrinsically  and  in  its 
effects  upon  the  course  of  thought,  that  has  ever  been 
written.  Berkeley,  indeed,  published  the  Essay  Towards 
a  New  Theory  of  Vision,  the  Treatise  Concerning  the  Prin- 
ciples of  Human  Knowledge,  and  the  Three  Dialogues,  be- 
tween the  ages  of  twenty-four  and  twenty-eight ;  and  thus 
comes  very  near  to  Hume,  both  in  precocity  and  in  influ- 
ence; but  his  investigations  are  more  limited  in  their 
scope  than  those  of  his  Scottish  contemporary. 

The  first  and  second  volumes  of  the  Treatise,  contain- 
ing Book  I,  "  Of  the  Understanding,"  and  Book  II.,  "  Of 
the  Passions,"  were  published  in  January,  17 39."  The 
publisher  gave  fifty  pounds  for  the  copyright ;  which  is 
probably  more  than  an  unknown  writer  of  twenty-seven 
years  of  age  would  get  for  a  similar  work  at  the  present 
time.  But,  in  other  respects,  its  success  fell  far  short  of 
Hume's  expectations.  In  a  letter  dated  the  1st  of  June, 
1739, he  writes: — 


1  Letter  to  Gilbert  Elliot  of  Minto,  1751.  "So  vast  an  undertak- 
ing, planned  before  I  was  one-and-twenty,  and  composed  before  twen- 
ty-five, must  necessarily  be  very  defective.  I  have  repented  my  haste 
a  hundred  and  a  hundred  times." 

3  So  says  Mr.  Burton,  and  that  he  is  right  is  proved  by  a  letter  of 
Hume's,  dated  February  13,  1739,  La  which  he  writes,  "'Tis  now  a 
fortnight  since  my  book  was  published."  But  it  is  a  curious  illus- 
tration of  the  value  of  testimony,  that  Hume,  in  My  Own  Life,  states : 
"  In  the  end  of  1738  I  published  my  Treatise,  and  immediately  went 
down  to  my  mother  and  my  brother." 


10  HUME.  [CHAT. 

"  I  am  not  much  in  the  humour  of  such  compositions  at 
present,  having  received  news  from  London  of  the  success 
of  my  Philosophy,  which  is  but  indifferent,  if  I  may  judge  by 
the  sale  of  the  book,  and  if  I  may  believe  my  bookseller." 

This,  however,  indicates  a  very  different  reception  from 
that  which  Hume,  looking  through  the  inverted  telescope 
of  old  age,  ascribes  to  the  Treatise  in  My  Own  Life. 

"  Never  literary  attempt  was  more  unfortunate  than  my 
Treatise  of  Human  Nature.  It  fell  deadborn  from  the  press 
without  reaching  such  a  distinction  as  even  to  excite  a  mur- 
mur among  the  zealots." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  fully,  and,  on  the  whole,  re- 
spectfully and  appreciatively,  reviewed  in  the  History  of 
the  Works  of  the  Learned  for  November,  1739. l  Who- 
ever the  reviewer  may  have  been,  he  was  a  man  of  dis- 
cernment, for  he  says  that  the  work  bears  "  incontestable 
marks  of  a  great  capacity,  of  a  soaring  genius,  but  young, 
and  not  yet  thoroughly  practised ;"  and  he  adds,  that  we 
shall  probably  have  reason  to  consider  "  this,  compared 
with  the  later  productions,  in  the  same  light  as  we  view 
the  juvenile  works  of  a  Milton,  or  the  first  manner  of 
a  Raphael  or  other  celebrated  painter."  In  a  letter  to 
Hutcheson,  Hume  merely  speaks  of  this  article  as  "  some- 
what abusive ;"  so  that  his  vanity,  being  young  and  cal- 
low, seems  to  have  been  correspondingly  wide -mouthed 
and  hard  to  satiate. 

It  must  be  confessed  that,  on  this  occasion,  no  less  than 
on  that  of  his  other  publications,  Hume  exhibits  no  small 
share  of  the  craving  after  mere  notoriety  and  vulgar  suc- 
cess, as  distinct  from  the  pardonable,  if  not  honourable, 

1  Burton,  Life,  vol.  i.  p.  109. 


i.j  FOBSAKES  PHILOSOPHY.  11 

ambition  for  solid  and  enduring  fame,  which  would  have 
harmonised  better  with  his  philosophy.  Indeed,  it  ap- 
pears to  be  by  no  means  improbable  that  this  peculiarity 
of  Hume's  moral  constitution  was  the  cause  of  his  grad- 
ually forsaking  philosophical  studies,  after  the  publication 
of  the  third  part  (On  Morals)  of  the  Treatise,  in  1740, 
and  turning  to  those  political  and  historical  topics  which 
were  likely  to  yield,  and  did  in  fact  yield,  a  much  better 
return  of  that  sort  of  success  which  his  soul  loved.  The 
Philosophical  Essays  Concerning  the  Human  Understand- 
ing, which  afterwards  became  the  Inquiry,  is  not  much 
more  than  an  abridgment  and  recast,  for  popular  use,  of 
parts  of  the  Treatise,  with  the  addition  of  the  essays  on 
Miracles  and  on  Necessity.  In  style,  it  exhibits  a  great 
improvement  on  the  Treatise;  but  the  substance,  if  not 
deteriorated,  is  certainly  not  improved.  Hume  does  not 
really  bring  his  mature  powers  to  bear  upon  his  early 
speculations,  in  the  later  work.  The  crude  fruits  have  not 
been  ripened,  but  they  have  been  ruthlessly  pruned  away, 
along  with  the  branches  which  bore  them.  The  result  is 
a  pretty  shrub  enough ;  but  not  the  tree  of  knowledge, 
with  its  roots  firmly  fixed  in  fact,  its  branches  perennially 
budding  forth  into  new  truths,  which  Hume  might  have 
reared.  Perhaps,  after  all,  worthy  Mrs.  Hume  was,  in  the 
highest  sense,  right.  Davie  was  "wake -minded,"  not  to 
see  that  the  world  of  philosophy  was  his  to  overrun  and 
subdue,  if  he  would  but  persevere  in  the  work  he  had  be- 
gun. But  no — he  must  needs  turn  aside  for  "  success  "  : 
and  verily  he  had  his  reward ;  but  not  the  crown  he  might 
have  won. 

In  1740,  Hume  seems  to  have  made  an  acquaintance 
which  rapidly  ripened  into  a  life-long  friendship.     Adam 

Smith  was  at  that  time  a  boy  student  of  seventeen  at  the 
B 


12  HUME.  [CHAP. 

University  of  Glasgow ;  and  Hume  sends  a  copy  of  the 
Treatise  to  "  Mr.  Smith,"  apparently  on  the  recommenda- 
tion of  the  well-known  Hutcheson,  Professor  of  Moral 
Philosophy  in  the  university.  It  is  a  remarkable  evi- 
dence of  Adam  Smith's  early  intellectual  development, 
that  a  youth  of  his  age  should  be  thought  worthy  of  such 
a  present. 

In  1741  Hume  published  anonymously,  at  Edinburgh, 
the  first  volume  of  Essays  Moral  and  Political,  which  was 
followed  in  1742  by  the  second  volume. 

These  pieces  are  written  in  an  admirable  style,  and, 
though  arranged  without  apparent  method,  a  system  of 
political  philosophy  may  be  gathered  from  their  contents. 
Thus  the  third  essay,  That  Politics  may  be  reduced  to  a 
Science,  defends  that  thesis,  and  dwells  on  the  importance 
of  forms  of  government. 

"  So  great  is  the  force  of  laws  and  of  particular  forms  of 
government,  and  so  little  dependence  have  they  on  the  hu- 
mours and  tempers  of  men,  that  consequences  almost  as  gen- 
eral and  certain  may  sometimes  be  deduced  from  them  as 
any  which  the  mathematical  sciences  afford  us." — (HI.  15.) 
(See  p.  45.) 

Hume  proceeds  to  exemplify  the  evils  which  inevitably 
flow  from  universal  suffrage,  from  aristocratic  privilege, 
and  from  elective  monarchy,  by  historical  examples,  and 
concludes : — 

"That  an  hereditary  prince,  a  nobility  without  vassals, 
and  a  people  voting  by  their  representatives,  form  the  best 
monarchy,  aristocracy,  and  democracy." — (HI.  18.) 

If  we  reflect  that  the  following  passage  pf  the  same  es- 
say was  written  nearly  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  it  would 


I.]  POLITICAL  DOCTRINES.  IS 

seem  that  whatever  other  changes  may  have  taken  place, 
political  warfare  remains  in  statu  quo : — 

"  Those  who  either  attack  or  defend  a  minister  in  such  a 
government  as  ours,  where  the  utmost  liberty  is  allowed,  al- 
ways carry  matters  to  an  extreme,  and  exaggerate  his  merit 
or  demerit  with  regard  to  the  public.  His  enemies  are  sure 
to  charge  him  with  the  greatest  enormities,  both  in  domes- 
tic and  foreign  management;  and  there  is  no  meanness  or 
crime  of  which,  in  their  judgment,  he  is  not  capable.  Un- 
necessary wars,  scandalous  treaties,  profusion  of  public  treas- 
ure, oppressive  taxes,  every  kind  of  maladministration  is  as- 
cribed to  him.  To  aggravate  the  charge,  his  pernicious  con- 
duct, it  is  said,  will  extend  its  baneful  influence  even  to  pos- 
terity, by  undermining  the  best  constitution  in  the  world, 
and  disordering  that  wise  system  of  laws,  institutions,  and 
customs,  by  which  our  ancestors,  during  so  many  centuries, 
have  been  so  happily  governed.  He  is  not  only  a  wicked 
minister  in  himself,  but  has  removed  every  security  provided 
against  wicked  ministers  for  the  future. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  the  partisans  of  the  minister  make 
his  panegyric  rise  as  high  as  the  accusation  against  him,  and 
celebrate  his  wise,  steady,  and  moderate  conduct  in,  every 
part  of  his  administration.  The  honour  and  interest  of  the 
nation  supported  abroad,  public  credit  maintained  at  home, 
persecution  restrained,  faction  subdued :  the  merit  of  all 
these  blessings  is  ascribed  solely  to  the  minister.  At  the 
same  time,  he  crowns  all  his  other  merits  by  a  religious  care 
of  the  best  government  in  the  world,  which  he  has  preserved 
in  all  its  parts,  and  has  transmitted  entire,  to  be  the  happi- 
ness and  security  of  the  latest  posterity." — (HI.  26.) 

Hume  sagely  remarks  that  the  panegyric  and  the  accu- 
sation cannot  both  be  true ;  and,  that  what  truth  there 
may  be  in  either,  rather  tends  to  show  that  our  much- 
vaunted  constitution  does  not  fulfil  its  chief  object,  which 


H  HUME.  [CHAP. 

is  to  provide  a  remedy  against  maladministration.  And 
if  it  does  not — 

"we  are  rather  beholden  to  any  minister  who  undermines 
it  and  affords  us  the  opportunity  of  erecting  a  better  in  its 
place."— (HI.  28.) 

The  fifth  Essay  discusses  the  Origin  of  Government : — 

"  Man,  born  in  a  family,  is  compelled  to  maintain  society 
from  necessity,  from  natural  inclination,  and  from  habit. 
The  same  creature,  in  his  farther  progress,  is  engaged  to  es- 
tablish political  society,  in  order  to  administer  justice,  with- 
out which  there  can  be  no  peace  among  them,  nor  safety,  nor 
mutual  intercourse.  We  are  therefore  to  look  upon  all  the 
vast  apparatus  of  our  government  as  having  ultimately  no 
other  object  or  purpose  but  the  distribution  of  justice,  or,  in 
other  words,  the  support  of  the  twelve  judges.  Kings  and 
parliaments,  fleets  and  armies,  officers  of  the  court  and  rev- 
enue, ambassadors,  ministers  and  privy  councillors,  are  all 
subordinate  in  the  end  to  this  part  of  administration.  Even 
the  clergy,  as  their  duty  leads  them  to  inculcate  morality, 
may  justly  be  thought,  so  far  as  regards  this  world,  to  have 
no  other  useful  object  of  their  institution." — (HI.  37.) 

The  police  theory  of  government  has  never  been  stated 
more  tersely :  and,  if  there  were  only  one  state  in  the 
world ;  and  if  we  could  be  certain  by  intuition,  or  by  the 
aid  of  revelation,  that  it  is  wrong  for  society,  as  a  corpo- 
rate body,  to  do  anything  for  the  improvement  of  its  mem- 
bers, and  thereby  indirectly  support  the  twelve  judges,  no 
objection  could  be  raised  to  it. 

Unfortunately  the  existence  of  rival  or  inimical  nations 
furnishes  "  kings  and  parliaments,  fleets  and  armies,"  with 
a  good  deal  of  occupation  beyond  the  support  of  the 
twelve  judges ;  and,  though  the  proposition  that  the  State 


L]  POLITICAL  DOCTRINES.  15 

has  no  business  to  meddle  with  anything  but  the  admin- 
istration of  justice,  seems  sometimes  to  be  regarded  as  an 
axiom,  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  intuitively  certain,  in- 
asmuch as  a  great  many  people  absolutely  repudiate  it; 
while,  as  yet,  the  attempt  to  give  it  the  authority  of  a  rev- 
elation has  not  been  made. 

As  Hume  says  with  profound  truth  in  the  fourth  essay, 
On  the  First  Principles  of  Government : — 

"  As  force  is  always  on  the  side  of  the  governed,  the  gov- 
ernors have  nothing  to  support  them  but  opinion.  It  is, 
therefore,  on  opinion  only  that  government  is  founded ;  and 
this  maxim  extends  to  the  most  despotic  and  most  military 
governments,  as  well  as  to  the  most  free  and  the  most  popu- 
lar."—(HI.  31.) 

But  if  the  whole  fabric  of  social  organisation  rests  on 
opinion,  it  may  surely  be  fairly  argued  that,  in  the  inter- 
ests of  self-preservation,  if  for  no  better  reason,  society 
has  a  right  to  see  that  the  means  of  forming  just  opinions 
are  placed  within  the  reach  of  every  one  of  its  members ; 
and,  therefore,  that  due  provision  for  education,  at  any 
rate,  is  a  right  and,  indeed,  a  duty,  of  the  state. 

The  three  opinions  upon  which  all  government,  or  the 
authority  of  the  few  over  the  many,  is  founded,  says 
Hume,  are  public  interest,  right  to  power,  and  right  to 
property.  No  government  can  permanently  exist  unless 
the  majority  of  the  citizens,  who  are  the  ultimate  deposi- 
tary of  Force,  are  convinced  that  it  serves  the  general  in- 
terest, that  it  has  lawful  authority,  and  that  it  respects  in- 
dividual rights : — 

"  A  government  may  endure  for  several  ages,  though  the 
balance  of  power  and  the  balance  of  property  do  not  coin- 
cide. .  .  .  But  where  the  original  constitution  allows  any 


16  HUME.  [CHAP. 

share  of  power,  though  small,  to  an  order  of  men  who  pos- 
sess a  large  share  of  property,  it  is  easy  for  them  gradually 
to  stretch  their  authority,  and  bring  the  balance  of  power  to 
coincide  with  that  of  property.  This  has  been  the  case  with 
the  House  of  Commons  in  England." — (HI.  34.) 

Hume  then  points  out  that,  in  his  time,  the  authority  of 
the  'Commons  was  by  no  means  equivalent  to  the  proper- 
ty and  power  it  represented,  and  proceeds : — 

"Were  the  members  obliged  to  receive  instructions  from 
their  constituents,  like  the  Dutch  deputies,  this  would  en- 
tirely alter  the  case ;  and  if  such  immense  power  and  riches 
as  those  of  all  the  Commons  of  Great  Britain  were  brought 
into  the  scale,  it  is  not  easy  to  conceive  that  the  crown 
could  either  influence  that  multitude  of  people,  or  withstand 
that  balance  of  property.  It  is  true,  the  crown  has  great  in- 
fluence over  the  collective  body  in  the  elections  of  members ; 
but  were  this  influence,  which  at  present  is  only  exerted 
once  in  seven  years,  to  be  employed  in  bringing  over  the 
people  to  every  vote,  it  would  soon  be  wasted,  and  no  skill, 
popularity,  or  revenue  could  support  it.  I  must,  therefore, 
be  of  opinion  that  an  alteration  in  this  particular  would  in- 
troduce a  total  alteration  in  our  government,  would  soon 
reduce  it  to  a  pure  republic ;  and,  perhaps,  to  a  republic  of 
no  inconvenient  form." — (HI.  35.) 

Viewed  by  the  light  of  subsequent  events,  this  is  sure- 
ly a  very  remarkable  example  of  political  sagacity.  The 
members  of  the  House  of  Commons  are  not  yet  delegates ; 
but,  with  the  widening  of  the  suffrage  and  the  rapidly 
increasing  tendency  to  drill  and  organise  the  electorate, 
and  to  exact  definite  pledges  from  candidates,  they  are 
rapidly  becoming,  if  not  delegates,  at  least  attorneys  for 
committees  of  electors.  The  same  causes  are  constantly 
tending  to  exclude  men,  who  combine  a  keen  sense  of  self- 


i.]  POLITICAL  PROGNOSTICATIONS.  17 

respect  with  large  intellectual  capacity,  from  a  position  in 
which  the  one  is  as  constantly  offended  as  the  other  is 
neutralised.  Notwithstanding  the  attempt  of  George  the 
Third  to  resuscitate  the  royal  authority,  Hume's  foresight 
has  been  so  completely  justified  that  no  one  now  dreams 
of  the  crown  exerting  the  slightest  influence  upon  elec- 
tions. 

In  the  seventh  essay,  Hume  raises  a  very  interesting 
discussion  as  to  the  probable  ultimate  result  of  the  forces 
which  were  at  work  in  the  British  Constitution  in  the 
first  part  of  the  eighteenth  century : — 

"There  has  been  a  sudden  and  sensible  change  in  the 
opinions  of  men,  within  these  last  fifty  years,  by  the  prog- 
ress of  learning  and  of  liberty.  Most  people  in  this  island 
have  divested  themselves  of  all  superstitious  reverence  to 
names  and  authority ;  the  clergy  have  much  lost  their 
credit;  their  pretensions  and  doctrines  have  been  much 
ridiculed ;  and  even  religion  can  scarcely  support  itself  in 
the  world.  The  mere  name  of  king  commands  little  respect; 
and  to  talk  of  a  king  as  God's  vicegerent  on  earth,  or  to 
give  him  any  of  those  magnificent  titles  which  formerly 
dazzled  mankind,  would  but  excite  laughter  in  every  one." 
— (HI.  54.) 

In  fact,  at  the  present  day,  the  danger  to  monarchy  in 
Britain  would  appear  to  lie,  not  in  increasing  love  for 
equality,  for  which,  except  as  regards  the  law,  English- 
men have  never  cared,  but  rather  entertain  an  aversion ; 
nor  in  any  abstract  democratic  theories,  upon  which  the 
mass  of  Englishmen  pour  the  contempt  with  which  they 
view  theories  in  general ;  but  in  the  constantly  increas- 
ing tendency  of  monarchy  to  become  slightly  absurd, 
from  the  ever-widening  discrepancy  between  modern  po- 
litical ideas  and  the  theory  of  kingship.  As  Hume  ob- 
27 


18  HUME.  [CHAP. 

serves,  even  in  his  time,  people  had  left  off  making  believe 
that  a  king  was  a  different  species  of  man  from  other 
men ;  and,  since  his  day,  more  and  more  such  make-be- 
lieves have  become  impossible ;  until  the  maintenance  of 
kingship  in  coming  generations  seems  likely  to  depend 
entirely  upon  whether  it  is  the  general  opinion  that  a 
hereditary  president  of  our  virtual  republic  will  serve  the 
general  interest  better  than  an  elective  one  or  not.  The 
tendency  of  public  feeling  in  this  direction  is  patent,  but 
it  does  not  follow  that  a  republic  is  to  be  the  final  stage 
of  our  government.  In  fact,  Hume  thinks  not: — 

"  It  is  well  known  that  every  government  must  come  to 
a  period,  and  that  death  is  unavoidable  to  the  political,  as 
well  as  to  the  animal  body.  But,  as  one  kind  of  death  may 
be  preferable  to  another,  it  may  be  inquired,  whether  it  be 
more  desirable  for  the  British  constitution  to  terminate  in 
a  popular  government,  or  in  an  absolute  monarchy  ?  Here, 
I  would  frankly  declare,  that  though  liberty  be  preferable 
to  slavery,  in  almost  every  case ;  yet  I  should  rather  wish  to 
see  an  absolute  monarch  than  a  republic  in  this  island.  For 
let  us  consider  what  kind  of  republic  we  have  reason  to 
expect.  The  question  is  not  concerning  any  fine  imaginary 
republic  of  which  a  man  forms  a  plan  in  his  closet.  There 
is  no  doubt  but  a  popular  government  may  be  imagined 
more  perfect  than  an  absolute  monarchy,  or  even  than  our 
present  constitution.  But  what  reason  have  we  to  expect 
that  any  such  government  will  ever  be  established  in  Great 
Britain,  upon  the  dissolution  of  our  monarchy?  If  any 
single  person  acquire  power  enough  to  take  our  constitution 
to  pieces,  and  put  it  up  anew,  he  is  really  an  absolute  mon- 
arch ;  and  we  have  already  had  an  instance  of  this  kind, 
sufficient  to  convince  us  that  such  a  person  will  never  resign 
his  power,  or  establish  any  free  government.  Matters,  there- 
fore, must  be  trusted  to  their  natural  progress  and  opera- 
tion ;  and  the  House  of  Commons,  according  to  its  present 


i.]  POLITICAL  PROGNOSTICATIONS.  19 

constitution,  must  be  the  only  legislature  in  such  a  popular 
government.  The  inconveniences  attending  such  a  situa- 
tion of  affairs  present  themselves  by  thousands.  If  the 
House  of  Commons,  in  such  a  case,  ever  dissolve  itself,  which 
is  not  to  be  expected,  we  may  look  for  a  civil  war  every 
election.  If  it  continue  itself,  we  shall  suflfer  all  the  tyranny 
of  a  faction  subdivided  into  new  factions.  And,  as  such 
a  violent  government  cannot  long  subsist,  we  shall  at  last, 
after  many  convulsions  and  civil  wars,  find  repose  in  abso- 
lute monarchy,  which  it  would  have  been  happier  for  us  to 
have  established  peaceably  from  the  beginning.  Absolute 
monarchy,  therefore,  is  the  easiest  death,  the  true  Euthanasia 
of  the  British  constitution. 

"  Thus  if  we  have  more  reason  to  be  jealous  of  monarchy, 
because  the  danger  is  more  imminent  from  that  quarter, 
we  have  also  reason  to  be  more  jealous  of  popular  govern- 
ment, because  that  danger  is  more  terrible.  This  may  teach 
us  a  lesson  of  moderation  in  all  our  political  controversies." 
—(HI.  55.) 

One  may  admire  the  sagacity  of  these  speculations,  and 
the  force  and  clearness  with  which  they  are  expressed, 
without  altogether  agreeing  with  them.  That  an  analogy 
between  the  social  and  bodily  organism  exists,  and  is,  in 
many  respects,  clear  and  full  of  instructive  suggestion,  is 
undeniable.  Yet  a  state  answers,  not  to  an  individual, 
but  to  a  generic  type ;  and  there  is  no  reason,  in  the  nat- 
ure of  things,  why  any  generic  type  should  die  out.  The 
type  of  the  pearly  Nautilus,  highly  organised  as  it  is,  has 
persisted  with  but  little  change  from  the  Silurian  epoch 
till  now ;  and,  so  long  as  terrestrial  conditions  remain 
approximately  similar  to  what  they  are  at  present,  there 
is  no  more  reason  why  it  should  cease  to  exist  in  the  next, 
than  in  the  past,  hundred  million  years  or  so.  The  true 
ground  for  doubting  the  possibility  of  the  establishment 


20  HUME.  [CHAP. 

of  absolute  monarchy  in  Britain  is,  that  opinion  seems 
to  have  passed  through,  and  left  far  behind,  the  stage  at 
which  such  a  change  would  be  possible ;  and  the  true 
reason  for  doubting  the  permanency  of  a  republic,  if  it  is 
ever  established,  lies  in  the  fact,  that  a  republic  requires 
for  its  maintenance  a  far  higher  standard  of  morality  and 
of  intelligence  in  the  members  of  the  state  than  any  other 
form  of  government.  Samuel  gave  the  Israelites  a  king 
because  they  were  not  righteous  enough  to  do  without 
one,  with  a  pretty  plain  warning  of  what  they  were  to 
expect  from  the  gift.  And,  up  to  this  time,  the  progress 
of  such  republics  as  have  been  established  in  the  world 
has  not  been  such  as  to  lead  to  any  confident  expectation 
that  their  foundation  is  laid  on  a  sufficiently  secure  sub- 
soil of  public  spirit,  morality,  and  intelligence.  On  the 
contrary,  they  exhibit  examples  of  personal  corruption  and 
of  political  profligacy  as  fine  as  any  hotbed  of  despotism 
has  ever  produced;  while  they  fail  in  the  primary  duty 
of  the  administration  of  justice,  as  none  but  an  effete  des- 
potism has  ever  failed. 

Hume  has  been  accused  of  departing,  in  his  old  age, 
from  the  liberal  principles  of  his  youth ;  and,  no  doubt,  he 
was  careful,  in  the  later  editions  of  the  Essays,  to  expunge 
everything  that  savoured  of  democratic  tendencies.  But 
the  passage  just  quoted  shows  that  this  was  no  recanta- 
tion, but  simply  a  confirmation,  by  his  experience  of  one 
of  the  most  debased  periods  of  English  history,  of  those 
evil  tendencies  attendant  on  popular  government,  of  which, 
from  the  first,  he  was  fully  aware. 

In  the  ninth  essay,  On  the  Parties  of  Great  Britain, 
there  occurs  a  passage  which,  while  it  affords  evidence  of 
the  marvellous  change  which  has  taken  place  in  the  social 
condition  of  Scotland  since  1741,  contains  an  assertion  re- 


t]  THE  CONDITION  OF  SCOTLAND.  21 

specting  the  state  of  the  Jacobite  party  at  that  time,  which 
at  first  seems  surprising : — 

"  As  violent  things  have  not  commonly  so  long  a  duration 
as  moderate,  we  actually  find  that  the  Jacobite  party  is  al- 
most entirely  vanished  from  among  us,  and  that  the  distinc- 
tion of  Court  and  Country,  which  is  but  creeping  in  at  Lon- 
don, is  the  only  one  that  is  ever  mentioned  in  this  kingdom. 
Beside  the  violence  and  openness  of  the  Jacobite  party,  an- 
other reason  has  perhaps  contributed  to  produce  so  sudden 
and  so  visible  an  alteration  in  this  part  of  Britain.  There 
are  only  two  ranks  of  men  among  us ;  gentlemen  who  have 
some  fortune  and  education,  and  the  meanest  slaving  poor ; 
without  any  considerable  number  of  that  middling  rank  of 
men  which  abound  more  in  England,  both  in  cities  and  in 
the  country,  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  world.  The  slav- 
ing poor  are  incapable  of  any  principles ;  gentlemen  may  be 
converted  to  true  principles  by  time  and  experience.  The 
middling  rank  of  men  have  curiosity  and  knowledge  enough 
to  form  principles,  but  not  enough  to  form  true  ones,  or  cor- 
rect any  prejudices  that  they  may  have  imbibed.  And  it  is 
among  the  middling  rank  of  people  that  Tory  principles  do 
at  present  prevail  most  in  England." — (HI.  80,  note.) 

Considering  that  the  Jacobite  rebellion  of  1745  broke 
out  only  four  years  after  this  essay  was  published,  the  as- 
sertion that  the  Jacobite  party  had  "  almost  entirely  van- 
ished in  1741"  sounds  strange  enough;  and  the  passage 
which  contains  it  is  omitted  in  the  third  edition  of  the  As- 
says, published  in  1748.  Nevertheless,  Hume  was  proba- 
bly right,  as  the  outbreak  of  '45  was  little  better  than  a 
Highland  raid,  and  the  Pretender  obtained  no  important 
following  in  the  Lowlands. 

No  less  curious,  in  comparison  with  what  would  be  said 
nowadays,  is  Hume's  remark  in  the  Essay  on  the  Rise  of 
the  Arts  and  Sciences  that — 


22  HUME.  [CHAP. 

"  The  English  are  become  sensible  of  the  scandalous  li- 
centiousness of  their  stage  from  the  example  of  the  French 
decency  and  morals." — (III.  135.) 

And  it  is  perhaps  as  surprising  to  be  told,  by  a  man  of 
Hume's  literary  power,  that  the  first  polite  prose  in  the 
English  language  was  written  by  Swift.  Locke  and  Tem- 
ple (with  whom  Sprat  is  astoundingly  conjoined)  "  knew 
too  little  of  the  rules  of  art  to  be  esteemed  elegant  writ- 
ers," and  the  prose  of  Bacon,  Harrington,  and  Milton  is 
"altogether  stiff  and  pedantic."  Hobbes,  who,  whether 
he  should  be  called  a  "  polite "  writer  or  not,  is  a  master  of 
vigorous  English ;  Clarendon,  Addison,  and  Steele  (the  last 
two,  surely,  were  "  polite "  writers,  in  all  conscience)  are 
not  mentioned. 

On  the  subject  of  National  Character,  about  which 
more  nonsense,  and  often  very  mischievous  nonsense,  has 
been  and  is  talked  than  upon  any  other  topic,  Hume's 
observations  are  full  of  sense  and  shrewdness.  He  dis- 
tinguishes between  the  moral  and  the  physical  causes  of 
national  character,  enumerating  under  the  former — 

"  The  nature  of  the  government,  the  revolutions  of  public 
affairs,  the  plenty  or  penury  in  which  people  live,  the  situa- 
tion of  the  nation  with  regard  to  its  neighbours,  and  such 
like  circumstances." — (in.  225.) 

and  under  the  latter : — 

"  Those  qualities  of  the  air  and  climate,  which  are  sup- 
posed to  work  insensibly  on  the  temper,  by  altering  the  tone 
and  habit  of  the  body,  and  giving  a  particular  complexion, 
which,  though  reflexion  and  reason  may  sometimes  overcome 
it,  will  yet  prevail  among  the  generality  of  mankind,  and 
have  an  influence  on  their  manners." — (III.  225.) 

While  admitting  and  exemplifying  the  great  influence 
of  moral  causes,  Hume  remarks — 


t]  NATIONAL  CHARACTER  23 

"  As  to  physical  causes,  I  am  inclined  to  doubt  altogether 
of  their  operation  in  this  particular;  nor  do  I  think  that 
men  owe  anything  of  their  temper  or  genius  to  the  air,  food, 
or  climate."— (HI.  227.) 

Hume  certainly  would  not  have  accepted  the  "  rice  the- 
ory "  in  explanation  of  the  social  state  of  the  Hindoos ; 
and,  it  may  be  safely  assumed,  that  he  would  not  have 
had  recourse  to  the  circumambience  of  the  "  melancholy 
main "  to  account  for  the  troublous  history  of  Ireland. 
He  supports  his  views  by  a  variety  of  strong  arguments, 
among  which,  at  the  present  conjuncture,  it  is  worth  noting 
that  the  following  occurs — 

"  Where  any  accident,  as  a  difference  in  language  or  relig- 
ion, keeps  two  nations,  inhabiting  the  same  country,  from 
mixing  with  one  another,  they  will  preserve  during  several 
centuries  a  distinct  and  even  opposite  set  of  manners.  The 
integrity,  gravity,  and  bravery  of  the  Turks  form  an  exact 
contrast  to  the  deceit,  levity,  and  cowardice  of  the  modern 
Greeks."— (HI.  233.) 

The  question  of  the  influence  of  race,  which  plays  so 
great  a  part  in  modern  political  speculations,  was  hardly 
broached  in  Hume's  time,  but  he  had  an  inkling  of  its  im- 
portance : — 

"  I  am  apt  to  suspect  the  Negroes  to  be  naturally  inferior 
to  the  Whites.  There  scarcely  ever  was  a  civilised  nation 
of  that  complexion,  nor  even  any  individual,  eminent  either 
in  action  or  speculation.  .  .  .  Such  a  uniform  and  constant 
difference  [between  the  negroes  and  the  whites]  could  not 
happen  in  so  many  countries  and  ages,  if  nature  had  not 
made  an  original  distinction  between  these  breeds  of  men. 
...  In  Jamaica,  indeed,  they  talk  of  one  Negro  as  a  man 
of  parts  and  learning;  but  it  is  likely  he  is  admired  for 
slender  accomplishments,  like  a  parrot  who  speaks  a  few 
words  plainly."— (in.  236.) 


24  HUME.  [CHAP.  i. 

The  Essays  met  with  the  success  they  deserved.  Hume 
wrote  t»  Henry  Home  in  June,  1742  : — 

"  The  Essays  are  all  sold  in  London,  as  I  am  informed 
by  two  letters  from  English  gentlemen  of  my  acquaintance. 
There  is  a  demand  for  them ;  and,  as  one  of  them  tells  me, 
Innys,  the  great  bookseller  in  Paul's  Churchyard,  wonders 
there  is  not  a  new  edition,  for  he  cannot  find  copies  for  his 
customers.  I  am  also  told  that  Dr.  Butler  has  everywhere 
recommended  them;  so  that  I  hope  that  they  will  have 
some  success." 

Hume  had  sent  Butler  a  copy  of  the  Treatise,  and  had 
called  upon  him  in  London,  but  he  was  out  of  town ;  and 
being  shortly  afterwards  made  Bishop  of  Bristol,  Hume 
seems  to  have  thought  that  further  advances  on  his  part 
might  not  be  well  received. 

Greatly  comforted  by  this  measure  of  success,  Hume  re- 
mained at  Ninewells,  rubbing  np  ids  Greek,  until  1745; 
when,  at  the  mature  age  of  thirty-four,  he  made  his  entry 
into  practical  life,  by  becoming  bear-leader  to  the  Marquis 
of  Annandale,  a  young  nobleman  of  feeble  body  and  fee- 
bler mind.  As  might  have  been  predicted,  this  venture 
was  not  more  fortunate  than  his  previous  ones ;  and,  af- 
ter a  year's  endurance,  diversified  latterly  with  pecuniary 
squabbles,  in  which  Hume's  tenacity  about  a  somewhat 
small  claim  is  remarkable,  the  engagement  came  to  an 
end. 


CHAPTER   II. 

LATER    YEARS  :    THE    HISTORY   OF    ENGLAND. 

IN  1744,  Hume's  friends  had  endeavoured  to  procure  his 
nomination  to  the  Chair  of  "Ethics  and  pneumatic  phi- 
losophy"1 in  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  About  this 
matter  he  writes  to  his  friend  William  Mure : — 

"The  accusation  of  heresy,  deism,  scepticism,  atheism, 
&c.,  &c.,  &c.,  was  started  against  me ;  but  never  took,  being 
bore  down  by  the  contrary  authority  of  all  the  good  compa- 
ny in  town." 

If  the  "good  company  in  town"  bore  down  the  first 
three  of  these  charges,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  for  the  sake  of 
their  veracity,  that  they  knew  their  candidate  chiefly  as 
the  very  good  company  that  he  always  was ;  and  had  paid 
as  little  attention,  as  good  company  usually  does,  to  so 
solid  a  work  as  the  Treatise.  Hume  expresses  a  naive 
surprise,  not  unmixed  with  indignation,  that  Hutcheson 
and  Leechman,  both  clergymen  and  sincere,  though  liberal, 
professors  of  orthodoxy,  should  have  expressed  doubts  as 

1  "  Pneumatic  philosophy  "  must  not  be  confounded  with  the  the- 
ory of  elastic  fluids ;  though,  as  Scottish  chairs  have,  before  now, 
combined  natural  with  civil  history,  the  mistake  would  be  pardon- 
able. 


26  HUME.  [CHAP. 

to  his  fitness  for  becoming  a  professedly  Presbyterian 
teacher  of  Presbyterian  youth.  The  town  council,  howev- 
er, would  not  have  him,  and  filled  up  the  place  with  a  safe 
nobody.  ^ 

In  May,  1746,  a  new  prospect  opened.  General  St. 
Clair  was  appointed  to  the  command  of  an  expedition  to 
Canada,  and  he  invited  Hume,  at  a  week's  notice,  to  be 
his  secretary ;  to  which  office  that  of  judge-advocate  was 
afterwards  added. 

Hume  writes  to  a  friend :  "  The  office  is  very  genteel, 
10*.  a  day,  perquisites,  and  no  expenses;"  and,  to  another, 
he  speculates  on  the  chance  of  procuring  a  company  in  an 
American  regiment.  "  But  this  I  build  not  on,  nor  in- 
deed am  I  very  fond  of  it,"  he  adds  ;  and  this  was  fortu- 
nate, for  the  expedition,  after  dawdling  away  the  summei 
in  port,  was  suddenly  diverted  to  an  attack  on  L'Orient, 
where  it  achieved  a  huge  failure  and  returned  ignomini- 
ously  to  England. 

A  letter  to  Henry  Home,  written  when  this  unlucky  ex- 
pedition was  recalled,  shows  that  Hume  had  already  seri- 
ously turned  his  attention  to  history.  Referring  to  an 
invitation  to  go  over  to  Flanders  with  the  General,  he 


"  Had  I  any  fortune  which  would  give  me  a  prospect  of 
leisure  and  opportunity  to  prosecute  my  historical  projects, 
nothing  could  be  more  useful  to  me,  and  I  should  pick  up 
more  literary  knowledge  in  one  campaign  by  being  in  the 
General's  family,  and  being  introduced  frequently  to  the 
Duke's,  than  most  officers  could  do  after  many  years'  service. 
But  to  what  can  all  this  serve  ?  I  am  a  philosopher,  and  so 
I  suppose  must  continue." 

But  this  vaticination  was  shortly  to  prove  erroneous. 
Hume  seems  to  have  made  a  very  favourable  impression  on 


it]  OFFICIAL  APPOINTMENTS.  27 

General  St.  Clair,  as  he  did  upon  every  one  with  whom  he 
came  into  personal  contact;  for,  being  charged  with  a  mis- 
sion to  the  court  of  Turin,  in  1748,  the  General  insisted 
upon  the  appointment  of  Hume  as  his  secretary.  He  fur- 
ther made  him  one  of  his  aides-de-camp ;  so  that  the  phi- 
losopher was  obliged  to  encase  his  more  than  portly,  and 
by  no  means  elegant,  figure  in  a  military  uniform.  Lord 
Charlemont,  who  met  him  at  Turin,  says  he  was  "  dis- 
guised in  scarlet,'7  and  that  he  wore  his  uniform  "  like  a 
grocer  of  the  train-bands."  Hume,  always  ready  for  a 
joke  at  his  own  expense,  tells  of  the  considerate  kindness 
with  which,  at  a  reception  at  Vienna,  the  Empress-dowa- 
ger released  him  and  his  friends  from  the  necessity  of 
walking  backwards.  "  We  esteemed  ourselves  very  much 
obliged  to  her  for  this  attention,  especially  my  compan- 
ions, who  were  desperately  afraid  of  my  falling  on  them 
and  crushing  them." 

Notwithstanding  the  many  attractions  of  this  appoint- 
ment, Hume  writes  that  he  leaves  home  "  with  infinite  re- 
gret, where  I  had  treasured  up  stores  of  study  and  plans 
of  thinking  for  many  years;"  and  his  only  consolation  is 
that  the  opportunity  of  becoming  conversant  with  state 
affairs  may  be  profitable : — 

"  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  courts  and  camps : 
and  if  I  can  afterward  be  so  happy  as  to  attain  leisure  and 
other  opportunities,  this  knowledge  may  even  turn  to  ac- 
count to  me  as  a  man  of  letters,  which  I  confess  has  always 
been  the  sole  object  of  my  ambition.  I  have  long  had  an  in- 
tention, in  my  riper  years,  of  composing  some  history ;  and  I 
question  not  but  some  greater  experience  in  the  operations 
of  the  field  and  the  intrigues  of  the  cabinet  will  be  requi- 
site, in  order  to  enable  me  to  speak  with  judgment  on  these 
subjecte." 
C  2* 


28  HUME.  [ou*. 

Hume  returned  to  London  in  1V49,  and,  during  his 
stay  there,  his  mother  died,  to  his  heartfelt  sorrow.  A 
curious  story  in  connection  with  this  event  is  told  by  Dr. 
Carlyle,  who  knew  Hume  well,  and  whose  authority  is  per- 
fectly trustworthy. 

"  Mr.  Boyle  hearing  of  it,  soon  after  went  to  his  apartment, 
for  they  lodged  in  the  same  house,  where  he  found  him  in 
the  deepest  affliction  and  in  a  flood  of  tears.  After  the  usual 
topics  and  condolences  Mr.  Boyle  said  to  him,  'My  friend, 
you  owe  this  uncommon  grief  to  having  thrown  off  the  prin- 
ciples of  religion ;  for  if  you  had  not,  you  would  have  been 
consoled  with  the  firm  belief  that  the  good  lady,  who  was 
not  only  the  best  of  mothers,  but  the  most  pious  of  Christians, 
was  completely  happy  in  the  realms  of  the  just.'  To  which 
David  replied,  'Though  I  throw  out  my  speculations  to 
entertain  the  learned  and  metaphysical  world,  yet  in  other 
things  I  do  not  think  so  differently  from  the  rest  of  the 
world  as  you  imagine.' " 

If  Hume  had  told  this  story  to  Dr.  Carlyle,  the  latter 
would  have  said  so ;  it  must  therefore  have  come  from 
Mr.  Boyle;  and  one  would  like  to  have  the  opportunity 
of  cross-examining  that  gentleman  as  to  Hume's  exact 
words  and  their  context,  before  implicitly  accepting  his 
version  of  the  conversation.  Mr.  Boyle's  experience  of 
mankind  must  have  been  small,  if  he  had  not  seen  the 
firmest  of  believers  overwhelmed  with  grief  by  a  like  loss, 
and  as  completely  inconsolable.  Hume  may  have  thrown 
off  Mr.  Boyle's  "  principles  of  religion,"  but  he  was  none 
the  less  a  very  honest  man,  perfectly  open  and  candid,  and 
the  last  person  to  use  ambiguous  phraseology,  among  his 
friends ;  unless,  indeed,  he  saw  no  other  way  of  putting  a 
stop  to  the  intrusion  of  unmannerly  twaddle  amongst  the 


n.]  DIALOGUES  ON  NATURAL  RELIGION.  29 

bitter-sweet  memories  stirred  in  his  affectionate  nature  by 
so  heavy  a  blow. 

The  Philosophical  Essays  or  Inquiry  was  published  in 
1748,  while  Hume  was  away  with  General  St.  Clair,  and 
on  his  return  to  England  he  had  the  mortification  to  find 
it  overlooked  in  the  hubbub  caused  by  Middleton's  Free 
Inquiry,  and  its  bold  handling  of  the  topic  of  the  Essay 
on  Miracles,  by  which  Hume  doubtless  expected  the  pub- 
lic to  be  startled. 

Between  1749  and  1751,  Hume  resided  at  Ninewells, 
with  his  brother  and  sister,  and  busied  himself  with  the 
composition  of  his  most  finished,  if  not  his  most  impor- 
tant works,  the  Dialogues  on  Natural  Religion,  the  In- 
quiry Concerning  the  Principles  of  Morals,  and  the  Polit- 
ical Discourses. 

The  Dialogues  on  Natural  Religion  were  touched  and 
re-touched,  at  intervals,  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and 
were  not  published  till  after  Hume's  death:  but  the  In- 
quiry Concerning  the  Principles  of  Morals  appeared  in 
1751,  and  the  Political  Discourses  in  1752.  Full  refer- 
ence will  be  made  to  the  two  former  in  the  exposition  of 
Hume's  philosophical  views.  The  last  has  been  well  said 
to  be  the  "cradle  of  political  economy:  and  much  as 
that  science  has  been  investigated  and  expounded  in  later 
times,  these  earliest,  shortest,  and  simplest  developments 
of  its  principles  are  still  read  with  delight  even  by  those 
who  are  masters  of  all  the  literature  of  this  great  sub- 
ject." ' 

The  Wealth  of  Nations,  the  masterpiece  of  Hume's 
close  friend,  Adam  Smith,  it  must  be  remembered,  did  not 
appear  before  1776,  so  that,  in  political  economy,  no  lesi 

1  Burton's  Life  of  David  Hum*,  i.  p.  364. 


90  HUME.  [CHAP. 

than  in  philosophy,  Hume  was  an  original,  a  daring,  and 
a  fertile  innovator. 

The  Political  Essays  had  a  great  and  rapid  success; 
translated  into  French  in  1753,  and  again  in  1754,  they 
conferred  a  European  reputation  upon  their  author ;  and, 
what  was  more  to  the  purpose,  influenced  the  later  French 
school  of  economists  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

By  this  time,  Hume  had  not  only  attained  a  high  repu- 
tation in  the  world  of  letters,  but  he  considered  himself  a 
man  of  independent  fortune.  His  frugal  habits  had  ena- 
bled him  to  accumulate  £1,000,  and  he  tells  Michael  Ram- 
say in  1751 : — 

"  While  interest  remains  as  at  present,  I  have  £50  a  year, 
a  hundred  pounds'  worth  of  books,  great  store  of  linens  and 
fine  clothes,  and  near  £100  in  my  pocket ;  along  with  order, 
frugality,  a  strong  spirit  of  independency,  good  health,  a 
contented  humour,  and  an  unabated  love  of  study.  In  these 
circumstances  I  must  esteem  myself  one  of  the  happy  and 
fortunate ;  and  so  far  from  being  willing  to  draw  my  ticket 
over  again  in  the  lottery  of  life,  there  are  very  few  prizes 
with  which  I  would  make  an  exchange.  After  some  delib- 
eration, I  am  resolved  to  settle  in  Edinburgh,  and  hope  I 
shall  be  able  with  these  revenues  to  say  with  Horace : — 

'  Est  bona  librorum  et  provisse  frugifl  in  annum 
Copia.' " 

It  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  better  example  of  the 
honourable  independence  and  cheerful  self-reliance  which 
should  distinguish  a  man  of  letters,  and  which  character- 
ised Hume  throughout  his  career.  By  honourable  effort, 
the  boy's  noble  ideal  of  life  became  the  man's  reality; 
and,  at  forty,  Hume  had  the  happiness  of  finding  that  he 
had  not  wasted  his  youth  in  the  pursuit  of  illusions,  but 


n. J  INDEPENDENCE  AND  SELF-RELIANCE.  31 

that  "the  solid  certainty  of  waking  bliss"  lay  before 
him,  in  the  free  play  of  his  powers  in  their  appropriate 
sphere. 

In  1751  Hume  removed  to  Edinburgh,  and  took  up  his 
abode  on  a  flat  in  one  of  those  prodigious  houses  in  the 
Lawnmarket,  which  still  excite  the  admiration  of  tourists ; 
afterwards  moving  to  a  house  in  the  Canongate.  His  sis- 
ter joined  him,  adding  £30  a  year  to  the  common  stock ; 
and,  in  one  of  his  charmingly  playful  letters  to  Dr.  Cle- 
phane,  he  thus  describes  his  establishment,  in  1753. 

"  I  shall  exult  and  triumph  to  you  a  little  that  I  have  now 
at  last — being  turned  of  forty,  to  my  own  honour,  to  that  of 
learning,  and  to  that  of  the  present  age — arrived  at  the  dig- 
nity of  being  a  householder. 

"About  seven  months  ago,  I  got  a  house  of  my  own,  and 
completed  a  regular  family,  consisting  of  a  head,  viz.,  myself, 
and  two  inferior  members,  a  maid  and  a  cat.  My  sister  has 
since  joined  me,  and  keeps  me  company.  With  frugality,  I 
can  reach,  I  find,  cleanliness,  warmth,  light,  plenty,  and  con- 
tentment. What  would  you  have  more  ?  Independence  ?  I 
have  it  in  a  supreme  degree.  Honour?  That  is  not  alto- 
gether wanting.  Grace  ?  That  will  come  in  time.  A  wife  ? 
That  is  none  of  the  indispensable  requisites  of  life.  Books  ? 
That  is  one  of  them ;  and  I  have  more  than  I  can  use.  In 
short,  I  cannot  find  any  pleasure  of  consequence  which  I 
am  not  possessed  of  in  a  greater  or  less  degree ;  and,  with- 
out any  great  effort  of  philosophy,  I  may  be  easy  and  satis- 
fied. 

"As  there  is  no  happiness  without  occupation,  I  have  be- 
gun a  work  which  will  occupy  me  several  years,  and  which 
yields  me  much  satisfaction.  'Tis  a  History  of  Britain  from 
the  Union  of  the  Crowns  to  the  present  time.  I  have  al- 
ready finished  the  reign  of  King  James.  My  friends  flatter 
me  (by  this  I  mean  that  they  don't  flatter  me)  that  I  have 
succeeded." 


52  HUME.  [CHAP. 

In  1752,  the  Faculty  of  Advocates  elected  Hume  their 
librarian,  an  office  which,  though  it  yielded  little  emolu- 
ment—  the  salary  was  only  forty  pounds  a  year — was 
valuable,  as  it  placed  the  resources  of  a  large  library  at  his 
disposal.  The  proposal  to  give  Hume  even  this  paltry 
place  caused  a  great  outcry,  on  the  old  score  of  infidelity. 
But  as  Hume  writes,  in  a  jubilant  letter  to  Clephane  (Feb- 
ruary 4, 1752): — 

"  I  carried  the  election  by  a  considerable  majority.  .  . . 
What  is  more  extraordinary,  the  cry  of  religion  could  not 
hinder  the  ladies  from  being  violently  my  partisans,  and  I 
owe  my  success  in  a  great  measure  to  their  solicitations. 
One  has  broke  off  all  commerce  with  her  lover  because  he 
voted  against  me  1  And  Mr.  Lockhart,  in  a  speech  to  the 
Faculty,  said  there  was  no  walking  the  streets,  nor  even  en- 
joying one's  own  fireside,  on  account  of  their  importunate 
zeal.  The  town  says  that  even  his  bed  was  not  safe  for  him, 
though  his  wife  was  cousin-german  to  my  antagonist. 

"'Twas  vulgarly  given  out  that  the  contest  was  between 
Deists  and  Christians,  and  when  the  news  of  my  success 
came  to  the  playhouse,  the  whisper  rose  that  the  Christians 
were  defeated.  Are  you  not  surprised  that  we  could  keep 
our  popularity,  notwithstanding  this  imputation,  which  my 
friends  could  not  deny  to  be  well  founded  ?" 

It  would  seem  that  the  "good  company"  was  less  en- 
terprising in  its  asseverations  in  this  canvass  than  in  the 
last. 

The  first  volume  of  the  History  of  Great  Britain,  con- 
taining the  reign  of  James  I.  and  Charles  /.,  was  published 
in  1754.  At  first,  the  sale  was  large,  especially  in  Edin- 
burgh, and  if  notoriety  per  se  was  Hume's  object,  he  at- 
tained it.  But  he  liked  applause  as  well  as  fame,  and,  to 
his  bitter  disappointment,  he  says : — 


n.]  INDEPENDENT  SYMPATHY.  33 

"  I  was  assailed  by  one  cry  of  reproach,  disapprobation, 
and  even  detestation :  English,  Scotch,  and  Irish,  Whig  and 
Tory,  Churchman  and  Sectary,  Freethinker  and  Religionist, 
Patriot  and  Courtier,  united  in  their  rage  against  the  man 
who  had  presumed  to  shed  a  generous  tear  for  the  fate  of 
Charles  I.  and  the  Earl  of  Strafford ;  and  after  the  first  ebul- 
litions of  their  fury  were  over,  what  was  still  more  mortify- 
ing, the  book  seemed  to  fall  into  oblivion.  Mr.  Millar  told 
me  that  in  a  twelvemonth  he  sold  only  forty-five  copies  of 
it.  I  scarcely,  indeed,  heard  of  one  man  in  the  three  king- 
doms, considerable  for  rank  or  letters,  that  could  endure  the 
book.  I  must  only  except  the  primate  of  England,  Dr.  Her- 
ring, and  the  primate  of  Ireland,  Dr.  Stone,  which  seem  two 
odd  exceptions.  These  dignified  prelates  separately  sent  me 
messages  not  to  be  discouraged." 

It  certainly  is  odd  to  think  of  David  Hume  being  com- 
forted in  his  affliction  by  the  independent  and  sponta- 
neous sympathy  of  a  pair  of  archbishops.  But  the  in- 
stincts of  the  dignified  prelates  guided  them  rightly ;  for, 
as  the  great  painter  of  English  history  in  Whig  pigments 
has  been  careful  to  point  out,1  Hume's  historical  picture, 
though  a  great  work,  drawn  by  a  master  hand,  has  all  the 
lights  Tory,  and  all  the  shades  Whig. 

Hume's  ecclesiastical  enemies  seem  to  have  thought  that 
their  opportunity  had  now  arrived ;  and  an  attempt  was 
made  to  get  the  General  Assembly  of  1756  to  appoint 
a  committee  to  inquire  into  his  writings.  But,  after  a 
keen  debate,  the  proposal  was  rejected  by  fifty  votes  to 
seventeen.  Hume  does  not  appear  to  have  troubled  him- 
self about  the  matter,  and  does  not  even  think  it  worth 
mention  in  My  Own  Life. 

In  1756  he  tells  Clephane  that  he  is  worth  £1,600  ster 


Lord  Macaulay,  Article  on  Historv,  Edii\burgli  Review,  vol.  txvii. 
38 


84  HUME.  [CHAP. 

ling,  and  consequently  master  of  an  income  which  must 
have  been  wealth  to  a  man  of  his  frugal  habits.  In  the 
same  year,  he  published  the  second  volume  of  the  Histo- 
ry, which  met  with  a  much  better  reception  than  the  first ; 
and,  in  1757,  one  of  his  most  remarkable  works,  the  Nat- 
ural History  of  Religion,  appeared.  In  the  same  year,  he 
resigned  his  office  of  librarian  to  the  Faculty  of  Advo- 
cates, and  he  projected  removal  to  London,  probably  to 
superintend  the  publication  of  the  additional  volume  of 
the  History. 

"  I  shall  certainly  be  in  London  next  summer ;  and  proba- 
bly to  remain  there  during  life :  at  least,  if  I  can  settle  my- 
self to  my  mind,  which  I  beg  you  to  have  an  eye  to.  A 
room  in  a  sober,  discreet  family,  who  would  not  be  averse  to 
admit  a  sober,  discreet,  virtuous,  regular,  quiet,  good-natured 
man  of  a  bad  character — such  a  room,  I  say,  would  suit  me 
extremely." ' 

The  promised  visit  took  place  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
year  1758,  and  he  remained  in  the  metropolis  for  the 
greater  part  of  1759.  The  two  volumes  of  the  History 
of  England  under  the  House  of  Tudor  were  published  in 
London,  shortly  after  Hume's  return  to  Edinburgh;  and, 
according  to  his  own  account,  they  raised  almost  as  great 
a  clamour  as  the  first  two  had  done. 

Busily  occupied  with  the  continuation  of  his  historical 
labours,  Hume  remained  in  Edinburgh  until  1763 ;  when, 
at  the  request  of  Lord  Hertford,  who  was  going  as  am- 
bassador to  France,  he  was  appointed  to  the  embassy ; 
with  the  promise  of  the  secretaryship,  and,  in  the  mean- 
while, performing  the  duties  of  that  office.  At  first, 
Hume  declined  the  offer;  but,  as  it  was  particularly  hon- 

1  Letter  to  Clephane,  3rd  September,  1757. 


n.]  SECRETARY  OF  THE  FRENCH  EMBASSY.  3& 

ourable  to  so  well  abused  a  man,  on  account  of  Lord  Hert- 
ford's high  reputation  for  virtue  and  piety,1  and  no  less 
advantageous  by  reason  of  the  increase  of  fortune  which 
it  secured  to  him,  he  eventually  accepted  it. 

In  France,  Hume's  reputation  stood  far  higher  than  in 
Britain ;  several  of  his  works  had  been  translated ;  he  had 
exchanged  letters  with  Montesquieu  and  with  Helvetius ; 
Rousseau  had  appealed  to  him ;  and  the  charming  Ma- 
dame de  Boufflers  had  drawn  him  into  a  correspondence, 
marked  by  almost  passionate  enthusiasm  on  her  part,  and 
as  fair  an  imitation  of  enthusiasm  as  Hume  was  capable 
of,  on  his.  In  the  extraordinary  mixture  of  learning,  wit, 
humanity,  frivolity,  and  profligacy  which  then  character- 
ised the  highest  French  society,  a  new  sensation  was 
worth  anything,  and  it  mattered  little  whether  the  cause 
thereof  was  a  philosopher  or  a  poodle ;  so  Hume  had  a 
great  success  in  the  Parisian  world.  Great  nobles  feted 
him,  and  great  ladies  were  not  content  unless  the  "gros 
David"  was  to  be  seen  at  their  receptions  and  in  their 
boxes  at  the  theatre.  "At  the  opera  his  broad  unmean- 
ing face  was  usually  to  be  seen  entre  deux  jolis  minois" 
says  Lord  Charlemont."  Hume's  cool  head  was  by  no 

1  "  You  must  know  that  Lord  Hertford  has  so  high  a  character 
for  piety,  that  his  taking  me  by  the  hand  is  a  kind  of  regeneration 
to  me,  and  all  past  offences  are  now  wiped  off.     But  all  these  views 
are  trifling  to  one  of  my  age  and  temper." — Hume  to  Edmondstvne, 
9th  January,  1*764.     Lord  Hertford  had  procured  him  a  pension  of 
£200  a  year  for  life  from  the  King,  and  the  secretaryship  was  worth 
£1,000  a  year. 

2  Madame  d'Epinay  gives   a  ludicrous   account  of  Hume's  per- 
formance when  pressed  into  a  tableau,  as  a  Sultan   between  two 
slaves,  personated  for  the  occasion  by  two  of  the  prettiest  women 
in  Paris : — 

"  H  les  regarde  attentivement,  U  se  frappe  le  venire  et  lee  genoux 


36  HUME.  [CHAP. 

means  turned;  but  he  took  the  goods  the  gods  provided 
with  much  satisfaction,  and  everywhere  won  golden  opin- 
ions by  his  unaffected  good  sense  and  thorough  kindness 
of  heart. 

Over  all  this  part  of  Hume's  career,  as  over  the  surpris- 
ing episode  of  the  quarrel  with  Rousseau,  if  that  can  be 
called  quarrel  which  was  lunatic  malignity  on  Rousseau's 
side  and  thorough  generosity  and  patience  on  Hume's,  I 
may  pass  lightly.  The  story  is  admirably  told  by  Mr. 
Burton,  to  whose  volumes  I  refer  the  reader.  Nor  need  I 
dwell  upon  Hume's  short  tenure  of  office  in  London,  as 
Under-Secretary  of  State,  between  1767  and  1769.  Suc- 
cess and  wealth  are  rarely  interesting,  and  Hume's  case  is 
no  exception  to  the  rule. 

According  to  his  own  description,  the  cares  of  official 
life  were  not  overwhelming. 

"My  way  of  life  here  is  very  uniform  and  by  no  means 
disagreeable.  I  have  all  the  forenoon  in  the  Secretary's 
house,  from  ten  till  three,  when  there  arrive  from  time  to 
time  messengers  that  bring  me  all  the  secrets  of  the  king- 
dom, and,  indeed,  of  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  and  America.  I 
am  seldom  hurried ;  but  have  leisure  at  intervals  to  take  up 
a  book,  or  write  a  private  letter,  or  converse  with  a  friend 
that  may  call  for  me ;  and  from  dinner  to  bed-time  is  all  my 
own.  If  you  add  to  this  that  the  person  with  whom  I  have 
the  chief,  if  not  only,  transactions,  is  the  most  reasonable, 
equal  -  tempered,  and  gentleman  -  like  man  imaginable,  and 

a  plusieurs  reprises  et  ne  trouve  jamais  autre  chose  ;\  leur  dire  que 
Eh  bien !  mes  demoiselles. — Eh  Men !  vous  voild  done.  .  .  .  Eh  bien  ! 
nous  voild  .  .  .  vous  voild  id?  Cette  phrase  dura  un  quart  d'heure 
sans  qu'il  put  en  sortir.  Unc  d'elles  se  leva  d'impatience :  Ah,  dit- 
elle,  je  m'en  etois  bien  doutee,  cet  homme  n'est  bon  qu'a  manger  du 
veau  1" — Burton's  Life  of  Hume,  vol.  ii.  p.  224, 


n.j  SUCCESS  AND  WEALTH.  87 

Lady  Aylesbury  the  same,  you  will  certainly  think  I  have  no 
reason  to  complain ;  and  I  am  far  from  complaining.  I  only 
shall  not  regret  when  my  duty  is  over;  because  to  me  the 
situation  can  lead  to  nothing,  at  least  in  all  probability ;  and 
reading,  and  sauntering,  and  lounging,  and  dozing,  which  I 
call  thinking,  is  my  supreme  happiness — I  mean  my  full  con- 
tentment." 

Hume's  duty  was  soon  over,  and  he  returned  to  Ed- 
inburgh in  1769,  "very  opulent"  in  the  possession  of 
£1,000  a  year,  and  determined  to  take  what  remained  to 
him  of  life  pleasantly  and  easily.  In  October,  1769,  he 
writes  to  Elliot : — 

"  I  have  been  settled  here  two  months,  and  am  here  body 
and  soul,  without  casting  the  least  thought  of  regret  to 
London,  or  even  to  Paris.  ...  I  live  still,  and  must  for  a 
twelvemonth,  in  my  old  house  in  James's  Court,  which  is 
very  cheerful  and  even  elegant,  but  too  small  to  display  my 
great  talent  for  cookery,  the  science  to  which  I  intend  to  ad- 
dict the  remaining  years  of  my  life.  I  have  just  now  lying 
on  the  table  before  me  a  receipt  for  making  soupe  d  la  reine, 
copied  with  my  own  hand ;  for  beef  and  cabbage  (a  charm- 
ing dish)  and  old  mutton  and  old  claret  nobody  excels  me. 
I  make  also  sheep's-head  broth  in  a  manner  that  Mr.  Keith 
speaks  of  for  eight  days  after ;  and  the  Due  de  Nivernoia 
would  bind  himself  apprentice  to  my  lass  to  learn  it.  I 
have  already  sent  a  challenge  to  David  Moncreiff:  you  will 
see  that  in  a  twelvemonth  he  will  take  to  the  writing  of 
history,  the  field  I  have  deserted ;  for  as  to  the  giving  of 
dinners,  he  can  now  have  no  further  pretensions.  I  should 
have  made  a  very  bad  use  of  my  abode  in  Paris  if  I  could 
not  get  the  better  of  a  mere  provincial  like  him.  All  my 
friends  encourage  me  in  this  ambition ;  as  thinking  it  will 
redound  very  much  to  my  honour." 

In  1770,  Hume  built  himself  a  house  in  the  New  Town 


38  ill  Ml.  [CHAP. 

of  Edinburgh,  which  was  then  springing  up.  It  was  the 
first  house  in  the  street,  and  a  frolicsome  young  lady 
chalked  upon  the  wall  "  St.  David's  Street."  Hume's 
servant  complained  to  her  master,  who  replied,  "Nev- 
er mind,  lassie,  many  a  better  man  has  been  made  a 
saint  of  before,"  and  the  street  retains  its  title  to  this 
day. 

In  the  following  six  years,  the  house  in  St.  David's 
Street  was  the  centre  of  the  accomplished  and  refined  so- 
ciety which  then  distinguished  Edinburgh.  Adam  Smith, 
Blair,  and  Ferguson  were  within  easy  reach ;  and  what 
remains  of  Hume's  correspondence  with  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot, 
Colonel  Edmonstone,  and  Mrs.  Cockburn  gives  pleasant 
glimpses  of  his  social  surroundings,  and  enables  us  to 
understand  his  contentment  with  his  absence  from  the 
more  perturbed,  if  more  brilliant,  worlds  of  Paris  and 
London. 

Towards  London,  Londoners,  and  indeed  Englishmen 
in  general,  Hume  entertained  a  dislike,  mingled  with  con- 
tempt, which  was  as  nearly  rancorous  as  any  emotion  of 
his  could  be.  During  his  residence  in  Paris,  in  1764  and 
1765,  he  writes  to  Blair: — 

"The  taste  for  literature  is  neither  decayed  nor  depraved 
here,  as  with  the  barbarians  who  inhabit  the  banks  of  the 
Thames." 

And  he  speaks  of  the  "  general  regard  paid  to  genius  and 
learning  "  in  France  as  one  of  the  points  in  which  it  most 
differs  from  England.  Ten  years  later,  he  cannot  even 
thank  Gibbon  for  his  History  without  the  left-handed 
compliment,  that  he  should  never  have  expected  such  an 
excellent  work  from  the  pen  of  an  Englishman.  Early 
in  1765,  Hume  writes  to  Millar: — 


n.]  DISLIKE  OF  ENGLISHMEN.  39 

"  The  rage  and  prejudice  of  parties  frighten  me,  and,  above 
all,  this  rage  against  the  Scots,  which  is  so  dishonourable, 
and  indeed  so  infamous,  to  the  English  nation.  We  hear 
that  it  increases  every  day  without  the  least  appearance  of 
provocation  on  our  part.  It  has  frequently  made  me  resolve 
never  in  my  life  to  set  foot  on  English  ground.  I  dread,  if 
I  should  undertake  a  more  modern  history,  the  impertinence 
and  ill-manners  to  which  it  would  expose  me ;  and  I  was 
willing  to  know  from  you  whether  former  prejudices  had  so 
far  subsided  as  to  ensure  me  of  a  good  reception." 

His  fears  were  kindly  appeased  by  Millar's  assurance  that 
the  English  were  not  prejudiced  against  the  Scots  in  gen- 
eral, but  against  the  particular  Scot,  Lord  Bute,  who  was 
supposed  to  be  the  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend,  of  both 
Dowager  Queen  and  King. 

To  care  nothing  about  literature,  to  dislike  Scotchmen, 
and  to  be  insensible  to  the  merits  of  David  Hume,  was  a 
combination  of  iniquities  on  the  part  of  the  English  na- 
tion, which  would  have  been  amply  sufficient  to  ruffle  the 
temper  of  the  philosophic  historian,  who,  without  being 
foolishly  vain,  had  certainly  no  need  of  what  has  been 
said  to  be  the  one  form  of  prayer  in  which  his  country- 
men, torn  as  they  are  by  theological  differences,  agree ; 
"  Lord !  gie  us  a  gude  conceit  o'  oursels."  But  when,  to 
all  this,  these  same  Southrons  added  a  passionate  admira- 
tion for  Lord  Chatham,  who  was  in  Hume's  eyes  a  char- 
latan ;  and  filled  up  the  cup  of  their  abominations  by 
cheering  for  "  Wilkes  and  Liberty,"  Hume's  wrath  knew 
no  bounds,  and,  between  1768  and  1770,  he  pours  a  per- 
fect Jeremiad  into  the  bosom  of  his  friend  Sir  Gilbert 
Elliot. 

"  Oh !  how  I  long  to  see  America  and  the  East  Indies  re- 
volted, totally  and  finally — the  revenue  reduced  to  half— 


40  HUME.  [CHAP. 

public  credit  fully  discredited  by  bankruptcy— the  third  of 
London  in  ruins,  and  the  rascally  mob  subdued!  I  think 
I  am  not  too  old  to  despair  of  being  witness  to  all  these 
blessings. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  the  daily  and  hourly  progress  of 
madness  and  folly  and  wickedness  in  England.  The  con- 
summation of  these  qualities  are  the  true  ingredients  for 
making  a  fine  narrative  in  history,  especially  if  followed  by 
some  signal  and  ruinous  convulsion — as  I  hope  will  soon  be 
the  case  with  that  pernicious  people  I" 

Even  from  the  secure  haven  of  James's  Court,  the  male- 
dictions continue  to  pour  forth : — 

"Nothing  but  a  rebellion  and  bloodshed  will  open  the 
eyes  of  that  deluded  people ;  though  were  they  alone  con- 
cerned, I  think  it  is  no  matter  what  becomes  of  them.  .  .  . 
Our  government  has  become  a  chimera,  and  is  too  perfect, 
in  point  of  liberty,  for  so  rude  a  beast  as  an  Englishman ; 
who  is  a  man,  a  bad  animal  too,  corrupted  by  above  a  cen- 
tury of  licentiousness.  The  misfortune  is  that  this  liberty 
can  scarcely  be  retrenched  without  danger  of  being  entirely 
lost ;  at  least  the  fatal  effects  of  licentiousness  must  first  be 
made  palpable  by  some  extreme  mischief  resulting  from  it. 
I  may  wish  that  the  catastrophe  should  rather  fall  on  our 
posterity,  but  it  hastens  on  with  such  large  strides  as  to 
leave  little  room  for  hope. 

"  I  am  running  over  again  the  last  edition  of  my  History, 
in  order  to  correct  it  still  further.  I  either  soften  or  ex- 
punge many  villainous  seditious  Whig  strokes  which  had 
crept  into  it.  I  wish  that  my  indignation  at  the  present 
madness,  encouraged  by  lies,  calumnies,  imposture,  and  every 
infamous  act  usual  among  popular  leaders,  may  not  throw 
me  into  the  opposite  extreme." 

A  wise  wish,  indeed.  Posterity  respectfully  concurs 
therein ;  and  subjects  Hume's  estimate  of  England  and 


IL]  HUME'S  LAST  ILLNESS.  41 

things  English  to  such  modifications  as  it  would  probably 
have  undergone  had  the  wish  been  fulfilled. 

In  1775  Hume's  health  began  to  fail;  and,  in  the 
spring  of  the  following  year,  his  disorder,  which  appears 
to  have  been  hemorrhage  of  the  bowels,  attained  such  a 
height  that  he  knew  it  must  be  fatal.  So  he  made  his 
will,  and  wrote  My  Own  Life,  the  conclusion  of  which  is 
one  of  the  most  cheerful,  simple,  and  dignified  leave-tak- 
ings of  life  and  all  its  concerns,  extant. 

"I  now  reckon  upon  a  speedy  dissolution.  I  have  suf- 
fered very  little  pain  from  my  disorder ;  and,  what  is  more 
strange,  have,  notwithstanding  the  great  decline  of  my  per- 
son, never  suffered  a  moment's  abatement  of  spirits ;  inso- 
much that  were  I  to  name  the  period  of  my  life  which  I 
should  most  choose  to  pass  over  again,  I  might  be  tempted 
to  point  to  this  later  period.  I  possess  the  same  ardour  as 
ever  in  study  and  the  same  gaiety  in  company ;  I  consider, 
besides,  that  a  man  of  sixty-five,  by  dying,  cuts  off  only  a  few 
years  of  infirmities;  and  though  I  see  many  symptoms  of 
my  literary  reputation's  breaking  out  at  last  with  additional 
lustre,  I  know  that  I  could  have  but  few  years  to  enjoy  it. 
It  is  difficult  to  be  more  detached  from  life  than  I  am  at 
present. 

"  To  conclude  historically  with  my  own  character,  I  am, 
or  rather  was  (for  that  is  the  style  I  must  now  use  in  speak- 
ing of  myself,  which  emboldens  me  the  more  to  speak  my 
sentiments) ;  I  was,  I  say,  a  man  of  mild  dispositions,  of 
command  of  temper,  of  an  open,  social,  and  cheerful  humour, 
capable  of  attachment,  but  little  susceptible  of  enmity,  and 
of  great  moderation  in  all  my  passions.  Even  my  love  of 
literary  fame,  my  ruling  passion,  never  soured  my  temper, 
notwithstanding  my  frequent  disappointments.  My  com- 
pany was  not  unacceptable  to  the  young  and  careless,  as 
well  as  to  the  studious  and  literary ;  and  as  I  took  a  partic- 
ular pleasure  in  the  company  of  modest  women,  I  had  no 


42  HUME.  [CKAP. 

reason  to  be  displeased  with  the  reception  I  met  with  from 
them.  In  a  word,  though  most  men  anywise  eminent  have 
found  reason  to  complain  of  calumny,  I  never  was  touched 
or  even  attacked  by  her  baleful  tooth ;  and  though  I  wan- 
tonly exposed  myself  to  the  rage  of  both  civil  and  religious 
factions,  they  seemed  to  be  disarmed  in  my  behalf  of  their 
wonted  fury.  My  friends  never  had  occasion  to  vindicate 
any  one  circumstance  of  my  character  and  conduct;  not 
but  that  the  zealots,  we  may  well  suppose,  would  have  been 
glad  to  invent  and  propagate  any  story  to  my  disadvantage, 
but  they  could  never  find  any  which  they  thought  would 
wear  the  face  of  probability.  I  cannot  say  there  is  no  van- 
ity in  making  this  funeral  oration  of  myself,  but  I  hope  it  is 
not  a  misplaced  one ;  and  this  is  a  matter  of  fact  which  is 
easily  cleared  and  ascertained." 

Hume  died  in  Edinburgh  on  the  25th  of  August,  1776, 
and,  a  few  days  later,  his  body,  attended  by  a  great  con- 
course of  people,  who  seem  to  have  anticipated  for  it  the 
fate  appropriate  to  the  remains  of  wizards  and  necro- 
mancers, was  deposited  in  a  spot  selected  by  himself,  in 
an  old  burial-ground  on  the  eastern  slope  or  the  Calton 
Hill. 

From  the  summit  of  this  hill,  there  is  a  prospect  un- 
equalled by  any  to  be  seen  from  the  midst  of  a  great  city. 
Westward  lies  the  Forth,  and  beyond  it,  dimly  blue, -the 
far  away  Highland  hills ;  eastward,  rise  the  bold  contours 
of  Arthur's  Seat  and  the  rugged  crags  of  the  Castle  rock, 
with  the  grey  Old  Town  of  Edinburgh ;  while,  far  below, 
from  a  maze  of  crowded  thoroughfares,  the  hoarse  mur- 
mur of  the  toil  of  a  polity  of  energetic  men  is  borne  upon 
the  ear.  At  times,  a  man  may  be  as  solitary  here  as  in 
a  veritable  wilderness;  and  may  meditate  undisturbedly 
upon  the  epitome  of  nature  and  of  man — the  kingdoms 
of  this  world — spread  out  before  him. 


it]  THE  GRAVE  ON  THE  CALTON  HILL.  43 

Surely,  there  is  a  fitness  in  the  choice  of  this  last  rest- 
ing-place by  the  philosopher  and  historian,  who  saw  so 
clearly  that  these  two  kingdoms  form  but  one  realm,  gov- 
erned by  uniform  laws  and  alike  based  on  impenetrable 
darkness  and  eternal  silence :  and,  faithful  to  the  last  to 
that  profound  veracity  which  was  the  secret  of  his  philo- 
sophic greatness,  he  ordered  that  the  simple  Roman  tomb 
which  marks  his  grave  should  bear  no  inscription  but 

DAVID  HUME 

BORN  1711.  DIED  1776. 

Leaning  it  to  posterity  to  add  the  rest. 

It  was  by  the  desire  and  at  the  suggestion  of  my  friend, 
the  Editor  of  this  Series,  that  I  undertook  to  attempt  to 
help  posterity  in  the  difficult  business  of  knowing  what  to 
add  to  Hume's  epitaph ;  and  I  might,  with  justice,  throw 
upon  him  the  responsibility  of  my  apparent  presump- 
tion in  occupying  a  place  among  the  men  of  letters,  who 
are  engaged  with  him,  in  their  proper  function  of  writing 
about  English  Men  of  Letters. 

That  to  which  succeeding  generations  have  made,  are 
making,  and  will  make,  continual  additions,  however,  is 
Hume's  fame  as  a  philosopher ;  and,  though  I  know 
that  my  plea  will  add  to  my  offence  in  some  quarters,  I 
must  plead,  in  extenuation  of  my  audacity,  that  philos- 
ophy lies  in  the  province  of  science,  and  not  in  that  of 
letters. 

In  dealing  with  Hume's  Life,  I  have  endeavoured,  as  far 
as  possible,  to  make  him  speak  for  himself.  If  the  ex- 
tracts from  his  letters  and  essays  which  I  have  given  do 
not  sufficiently  show  what  manner  of  man  he  was,  I  am 
D  3 


44  IIUME. 

sure  that  nothing  I  could  say  would  make  the  case  plain- 
er. In  the  exposition  of  Hume's  philosophy  which  fol- 
lows, I  have  pursued  the  same  plan,  and  I  have  applied 
myself  to  the  task  of  selecting  and  arranging  in  system- 
atic order,  the  passages  which  appeared  to  me  to  contain 
the  clearest  statements  of  Hume's  opinions. 

I  should  have  been  glad  to  be  able  to  confine  myself  to 
this  duty,  and  to  limit  my  own  comments  to  so  much  as 
was  absolutely  necessary  to  connect  my  excerpts.  Here 
and  there,  however,  it  must  be  confessed  that  more  is  seen 
of  my  thread  than  of  Hume's  beads.  My  excuse  must 
be  an  ineradicable  tendency  to  try  to  make  things  clear; 
while,  I  may  further  hope,  that  there  is  nothing  in  what  I 
may  have  said  which  is  inconsistent  with  the  logical  de- 
velopment of  Hume's  principles. 

My  authority  for  the  facts  of  Hume's  life  is  the  admi- 
rable biography,  published  in  1846,  by  Mr.  John  Hill  Bur- 
ton. The  edition  of  Hume's  works  from  which  all  cita- 
tions are  made  is  that  published  by  Black  and  Tait  in  Ed- 
inburgh, in  1826.  In  this  edition,  the  Essays  are  reprint- 
ed from  the  edition  of  1777,  corrected  by  the  author  for 
the  press  a  short  time  before  his  death.  It  is  well  printed 
in  four  handy  volumes ;  and  as  my  copy  has  long  been  in 
my  possession,  and  bears  marks  of  much  reading,  it  would 
have  been  troublesome  for  me  to  refer  to  any  other.  But, 
for  the  convenience  of  those  who  possess  some  other  edi- 
tion, the  following  table  of  the  contents  of  the  edition  of 
1826,  with  the  paging  of  the  four  volumes,  is  given: — 

VOLUME  I. 

TREATISE  OP  HUMAN  NATUHE. 
Book  I.  Of  the  Understanding,  p.  5  to  the  end,  p.  347. 


n.]  CONTENTS  OF  WORKS.  46 

VOLUME  H. 

TREATISE  OP  HUMAN  NATURE. 

Book  II.  Of  the  Passions,  p.  3— p.  315. 

Book  in.  Of  Morals,  p.  219— p.  415. 

DIALOGUES  CONCERNING  NATURAL  RELIGION,  p.  419 — p.  5481 
APPENDIX  TO  THE  TREATISE,  p.  551 — p.  560. 

VOLUME  m. 

ESSAYS,  MORAL  AND  POLITICAL,  p.  3 — p.  282. 
POLITICAL  DISCOURSES,  p.  285 — p.  579. 

VOLUME  IV. 

AN  INQUIRY  CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING,  p.  3 — 
p.  233. 

AN  INQUIRY  CONCERNING  THE  PRINCIPLES  OP  MORALS,  p. 
237— p.  431. 

THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  OP  RELIGION,  p.  435 — p.  513. 
ADDITIONAL  ESSAYS,  p.  517 — p.  577. 

As  the  volume  and  the  page  of  the  volume  are  given  in 
my  references,  it  will  be  easy,  by  the  help  of  this  table,  to 
learn  where  to  look  for  any  passage  cited,  in  differently  ar- 
ranged editions. 


PART  II, 

HUME'S  PHILOSOPHY. 
CHAPTER  L 

THE  OBJECT  AND  SCOPE  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 

KANT  has  said  that  the  business  of  philosophy  is  to  an- 
swer three  questions :  What  can  I  know  ?  What  ought  I 
to  do  1  and  For  what  may  I  hope  1  But  it  is  pretty  plain 
that  these  three  resolve  themselves,  in  the  long  run,  into 
the  first.  For  rational  expectation  and  moral  action  are 
alike  based  upon  beliefs;  and  a  belief  is  void  of  justifi- 
cation unless  its  subject-matter  lies  within  the  boundaries 
of  possible  knowledge,  and  unless  its  evidence  satisfies 
the  conditions  which  experience  imposes  as  the  guarantee 
of  credibility. 

Fundamentally,  then,  philosophy  is  the  answer  to  the 
question,  What  can  I  know?  and  it  is  by  applying  itself 
to  this  problem,  that  philosophy  is  properly  distinguished 
as  a  special  department  of  scientific  research.  What  is 
commonly  called  science,  whether  mathematical,  physical, 
or  biological,  consists  of  the  answers  which  mankind 


CHAP,  i.]  THE  OBJECT  AND  SCOPE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  47 

have  been  able  to  give  to  the  inquiry,  What  do  I  know  I 
They  furnish  us  with  the  results  of  the  mental  opera- 
tions which  constitute  thinking ;  while  philosophy,  in  the 
stricter  sense  of  the  terra,  inquires  into  the  foundation 
of  the  first  principles  which  those  operations  assume  or 

imply- 
But  though,  by  reason  of  the  special  purpose  of  phi- 
losophy, its  distinctness  from  other  branches  of  scientific 
investigation  may  be  properly  vindicated,  it  is  easy  to 
see  that,  from  the  nature  of  its  subject-matter,  it  is  in- 
timately and,  indeed,  inseparably  connected  with  one 
branch  of  science.  For  it  is  obviously  impossible  to 
answer  the  question,  What  can  we  know  ?  unless,  in  the 
first  place,  there  is  a  clear  understanding  as  to  what  is 
meant  by  knowledge ;  and,  having  settled  this  point,  the 
next  step  is  to  inquire  how  we  come  by  that  which  we 
allow  to  be  knowledge ;  for,  upon  the  reply,  turns  the 
answer  to  the  further  question,  whether,  from  the  nature 
of  the  case,  there  are  limits  to  the  knowable  or  not. 
WhiJe,  finally,  inasmuch  as  What  can  I  know  ?  not  only 
refers  to  knowledge  of  the  past  or  of  the  present,  but  to 
the  confident  expectation  which  we  call  knowledge  of  the 
future ;  it  is  necessary  to  ask,  further,  what  justification 
can  be  alleged  for  trusting  to  the  guidance  of  our  expec- 
tations in  practical  conduct. 

It  surely  needs  no  argumentation  to  show,  that  the  first 
problem  cannot  be  approached  without  the  examination 
of  the  contents  of  the  mind;  and  the  determination  of 
how  much  of  these  contents  may  be  called  knowledge. 
Nor  can  the  second  problem  be  dealt  with  in  any  other 
fashion ;  for  it  is  only  by  the  observation  of  the  growth 
of  knowledge  that  we  can  rationally  hope  to  discover  how 
knowledge  grows.  But  the  solution  of  the  third  problem 


48  HUME.  [CHAP. 

simply  involves  the  discussion  of  the  data  obtained  by  the 
investigation  of  the  foregoing  two. 

Thus,  in  order  to  answer  three  out  of  the  four  subordi- 
nate questions  into  which  What  can  I  know?  breaks  up, 
we  must  have  recourse  to  that  investigation  of  mental 
phenomena,  the  results  of  which  are  embodied  in  the  sci- 
ence of  psychology. 

Psychology  is  a  part  of  the  science  of  life  or  biology, 
which  differs  from  the  other  branches  of  that  science, 
merely  in  so  far  as  it  deals  with  the  psychical,  instead  of 
the  physical,  phenomena  of  life. 

As  there  is  an  anatomy  of  the  body,  so  there  is  an  anat- 
omy of  the  mind;  the  psychologist  dissects  mental  phe- 
nomena into  elementary  states  of  consciousness,  as  the 
anatomist  resolves  limbs  into  tissues,  and  tissues  into  cells. 
The  one  traces  the  development  of  complex  organs  from 
simple  rudiments;  the  other  follows  the  building  up  of 
complex  conceptions  out  of  simpler  constituents  of 
thought.  As  the  physiologist  inquires  into  the  way  in 
which  the  so-called  "  functions "  of  the  body  are  perform- 
ed, so  the  psychologist  studies  the  so-called  "faculties" 
of  the  mind.  Even  a  cursory  attention  to  the  ways  and 
works  of  the  lower  animals  suggests  a  comparative  anat- 
omy and  physiology  of  the  mind ;  and  the  doctrine  of  ev- 
olution presses  for  application  as  much  in  the  one  field  as 
in  the  other. 

But  there  is  more  than  a  parallel,  there  is  a  close  and 
intimate  connexion  between  psychology  and  physiology. 
No  one  doubts  that,  at  any  rate,  some  mental  states  are 
dependent  for  their  existence  on  the  performance  of  the 
functions  of  particular  bodily  organs.  There  is  no  seeing 
without  eyes,  and  no  hearing  without  ears.  If  the  origin 
of  the  contents  of  the  mind  is  truly  a  philosophical  prob- 


L]  THE  OBJECT  AND  SCOPE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  49 

lem,  then  the  philosopher  who  attempts  to  deal  with  that 
problem,  without  acquainting  himself  with  the  physiol- 
ogy of  sensation,  has  no  more  intelligent  conception  of 
his  business  than  the  physiologist,  who  thinks  he  can  dis- 
cuss locomotion,  without  an  acquaintance  with  the  prin- 
ciples of  mechanics ;  or  respiration,  without  some  tincture 
of  chemistry. 

On  whatever  ground  we  term  physiology,  science,  psy- 
chology is  entitled  to  the  same  appellation;  and  the 
method  of  investigation  which  elucidates  the  true  rela- 
tions of  the  one  set  of  phenomena  will  discover  those  of 
the  other.  Hence,  as  philosophy  is,  in  great  measure,  the 
exponent  of  the  logical  consequences  of  certain  data  es- 
tablished by  psychology ;  and  as  psychology  itself  differs 
from  physical  science  only  in  the  nature  of  its  subject- 
matter,  and  not  in  its  method  of  investigation,  it  would 
seem  to  be  an  obvious  conclusion,  that  philosophers  are 
likely  to  be  successful  in  their  inquiries,  in  proportion  as 
they  are  familiar  with  the  application  of  scientific  method 
to  less  abstruse  subjects ;  just  as  it  seems  to  require  no 
elaborate  demonstration  that  an  astronomer,  who  wishes  to 
comprehend  the  solar  system,  would  do  well  to  acquire  a 
preliminary  acquaintance  with  the  elements  of  physics. 
And  it  is  accordant  with  this  presumption,  that  the  men 
who  have  made  the  most  important  positive  additions  to 
philosophy,  such  as  Descartes,  Spinoza,  and  Kant,  not  to 
mention  more  recent  examples,  have  been  deeply  imbued 
with  the  spirit  of  physical  science;  and,  in  some  cases, 
such  as  those  of  Descartes  and  Kant,  have  been  largely 
acquainted  with  its  details.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
founder  of  Positivism  no  less  admirably  illustrates  the 
connexion  of  scientific  incapacity  with  philosophical  in- 
competence. In  truth,  the  laboratory  is  the  fore-court  of 


60  HUME.  [CHAT. 

the  temple  of  philosophy ;  and  whoso  has  not  offered  sac- 
rifices and  undergone  purification  there,  has  little  chance 
of  admission  into  the  sanctuary. 

Obvious  as  these  considerations  may  appear  to  be,  it 
would  be  wrong  to  ignore  the  fact  that  their  force  is  by 
no  means  universally  admitted.  On  the  contrary,  the 
necessity  for  a  proper  psychological  and  physiological 
training  to  the  student  of  philosophy  is  denied,  on  the 
one  hand,  by  the  "  pure  metaphysicians,"  who  attempt  to 
base  the  theory  of  knowing  upon  supposed  necessary  and 
universal  truths,  and  assert  that  scientific  observation  is 
impossible  unless  such  truths  are  already  known  or  im- 
plied :  which,  to  those  who  are  not  "  pure  metaphysi- 
cians," seems  very  much  as  if  one  should  say  that  the  fall 
of  a  stone  cannot  be  observed,  unless  the  law  of  gravita- 
tion is  already  in  the  mind  of  the  observer. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Positivists,  so  far  as  they  accept 
the  teachings  of  their  master,  roundly  assert,  at  any  rate 
in  words,  that  observation  of  the  mind  is  a  thing  inherent- 
ly impossible  in  itself,  and  that  psychology  is  a  chimera — 
a  phantasm  generated  by  the  fermentation  of  the  dregs  of 
theology.  Nevertheless,  if  M.  Comte  had  been  asked  what 
he  meant  by  "  physiologic  cerebrale,"  except  that  which 
other  people  call  "psychology;"  and  how  he  knew  any- 
thing about  the  functions  of  the  brain,  except  by  that 
very  "  observation  interieure,"  which  he  declares  to  be  an 
absurdity — it  seems  probable  that  he  would  have  found  it 
hard  to  escape  the  admission  that,  in  vilipending  psychol- 
ogy, he  had  been  propounding  solemn  nonsense. 

It  is  assuredly  one  of  Hume's  greatest  merits  that  he 
clearly  recognised  the  fact  that  philosophy  is  based  upon 
psychology;  and  that  the  inquiry  into  the  contents  and 
the  operations  of  the  mind  must  be  conducted  upon  the 


i.]  THE  OBJECT  AND  SCOPE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  51 

same  principles  as  a  physical  investigation,  if  what  he  calls 
the  "moral  philosopher"  would  attain  results  of  as  firm 
and  definite  a  character  as  those  which  reward  the  "  natu- 
ral philosopher." '  The  title  of  his  first  work,  a  "Treatise 
of  Human  Nature,  being  an  Attempt  to  introduce  the  Ex- 
perimental method  of  Reasoning  into  Moral  Subjects" 
sufficiently  indicates  the  point  of  view  from  which  Hume 
regarded  philosophical  problems;  and  he  tells  us  in  the 
preface,  that  his  object  has  been  to  promote  the  construc- 
tion of  a  "  science  of  man." 

"  "Pis  evident  that  all  the  sciences  have  a  relation,  greater 
or  less,  to  human  nature;  and  that,  however  wide  any  of 
them  may  seem  to  run  from  it,  they  still  return  back  by  one 
passage  or  another.  Even  Mathematics,  Natural  Philosophy, 
and  Natural  Religion  are  in  some  measure  dependent  on  the 
science  of  MAN  ;  since  they  lie  under  the  cognizance  of  men, 
and  are  judged  of  by  their  powers  and  qualities.  'Tis  im- 
possible to  tell  what  changes  and  improvements  we  might 
make  in  these  sciences  were  we  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
the  extent  and  force  of  human  understanding,  and  could  ex- 
plain the  nature  of  the  ideas  we  employ  and  of  the  opera- 
tions we  perform  in  our  reasonings.  ...  To  me  it  seems  evi- 
dent that  the  essence  of  mind  being  equally  unknown  to  us 
with  that  of  external  bodies,  it  must  be  equally  impossible 
to  form  any  notion  of  its  powers  and  qualities  otherwise  than 
from  careful  and  exact  experiments,  and  the  observation  of 
those  particular  effects  which  result  from  its  different  cir- 

1  In  a  letter  to  Hutcheson  (September  17th,  1739)  Hume  remarks : 
— "There  are  different  ways  of  examining  the  mind  as  well  as  the 
body.  One  may  consider  it  either  as  an  anatomist  or  as  a  painter : 
either  to  discover  its  most  secret  springs  and  principles,  or  to  de- 
scribe the  grace  and  beauty  of  its  actions ;"  and  he  proceeds  to  jus- 
tify his  own  mode  of  looking  at  the  moral  sentiments  from  the  anat- 
omist's point  of  view. 
3* 


62  HUME.  [CHAP. 

cumstances  and  situations.  And  though  we  must  endeavour 
to  render  all  our  principles  as  universal  as  possible,  by  trac- 
ing up  our  experiments  to  the  utmost,  and  explaining  all  ef- 
fects from  the  simplest  and  fewest  causes,  'tis  still  certain  we 
cannot  go  beyond  experience ;  and  any  hypothesis  that  pre- 
tends to  discover  the  ultimate  original  qualities  of  human 
nature,  ought  at  first  to  be  rejected  as  presumptuous  and 
chimerical.  .  .  . 

"  But  if  this  impossibility  of  explaining  ultimate  princi- 
ples should  be  esteemed  a  defect  in  the  science  of  man,  I 
will  venture  to  affirm,  that  it  is  a  defect  common  to  it  with 
all  the  sciences,  and  all  the  arts,  in  which  we  can  employ 
ourselves,  whether  they  be  such  as  are  cultivated  in  the 
schools  of  the  philosophers,  or  practised  in  the  shops  of  the 
meanest  artisans.  None  of  them  can  go  beyond  experience, 
or  establish  any  principles  which  are  not  founded  on  that 
authority.  Moral  philosophy  has,  indeed,  this  peculiar  dis- 
advantage, which  is  not  found  in  natural,  that  in  collecting 
its  experiments,  it  cannot  make  them  purposely,  with  pre- 
meditation, and  after  such  a  manner  as  to  satisfy  itself  con- 
cerning every  particular  difficulty  which  may  arise.  When 
I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  the  effects  of  one  body  upon  another 
in  any  situation,  I  need  only  put  them  in  that  situation,  and 
observe  what  results  from  it.  But  should  I  endeavour  to 
clear  up  in  the  same  manner  any l  doubt  in  moral  philoso- 
phy, by  placing  myself  in  the  same  case  with  that  which  I 
consider,  'tis  evident  this  reflection  and  premeditation  would 
so  disturb  the  operation  of  my  natural  principles,  as  must 
render  it  impossible  to  form  any  just  conclusion  from  the 
phenomenon.  We  must,  therefore,  glean  up  our  experiments 
in  this  science  from  a  cautious  observation  of  human  life, 
and  take  them  as  they  appear  in  the  common  course  of  the 

1  The  manner  in  which  Hume  constantly  refers  to  the  results  of 
the  observation  of  the  contents  and  the  processes  of  hia  own  mind 
clearly  shows  that  he  has  here  inadvertently  overstated  the  case. 


I.]  THE  OBJECT  AND  SCOPE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  53 

world,  by  men's  behaviour  in  company,  in  affairs,  and  in 
their  pleasures.  Where  experiments  of  this  kind  are  judi- 
ciously collected  and  compared,  we  may  hope  to  establish  on 
them  a  science  which  will  not  be  inferior  in  certainty,  and 
will  be  much  superior  in  utility,  to  any  other  of  human  com- 
prehension."— (I.  pp.  7 — 11.) 

All  science  starts  with  hypotheses — in  other  words, 
with  assumptions  that  are  unproved,  while  they  may  be, 
and  often  are,  erroneous ;  but  which  are  better  than  noth- 
ing to  the  seeker  after  order  in  the  maze  of  phenomena. 
And  the  historical  progress  of  every  science  depends  on 
the  criticism  of  hypotheses — on  the  gradual  stripping  off, 
that  is,  of  their  untrue  or  superfluous  parts — until  there 
remains  only  that  exact  verbal  expression  of  as  much  as 
we  know  of  the  fact,  and  no  more,  which  constitutes  a 
perfect  scientific  theory. 

Philosophy  has  followed  the  same  course  as  other 
branches  of  scientific  investigation.  The  memorable  ser- 
vice rendered  to  the  cause  of  sound  thinking  by  Descartes 
consisted  in  this :  that  he  laid  the  foundation  of  modern 
philosophical  criticism  by  his  inquiry  into  the  nature  of 
certainty.  It  is  a  clear  result  of  the  investigation  started 
by  Descartes,  that  there  is  one  thing  of  which  no  doubt 
can  be  entertained,  for  he  who  should  pretend  to  doubt  it 
would  thereby  prove  its  existence;  and  that  is  the  mo- 
mentary consciousness  we  call  a  present  thought  or  feel- 
ing ;  that  is  safe,  even  if  all  other  kinds  of  certainty  are 
merely  more  or  less  probable  inferences.  Berkeley  and 
Locke,  each  in  his  way,  applied  philosophical  criticism  in 
other  directions;  but  they  always,  at  any  rate  professed- 
ly, followed  the  Cartesian  maxim  of  admitting  no  proposi- 
tions to  be  true  but  such  as  are  clear,  distinct,  and  evident, 
even  while  their  arguments  stripped  off  many  a  layer  of 


M  HUME.  [CHAP. 

hypothetical  assumption  which  their  great  predecessor  had 
left  untouched.  No  one  has  more  clearly  stated  the  aims 
of  the  critical  philosopher  than  Locke,  in  a  passage  of  the 
famous  Essay  concerning  Human  Understanding,  which, 
perhaps,  I  ought  to  assume  to  be  well  known  to  all  Eng- 
lish readers,  but  which  so  probably  is  unknown  to  this 
full-crammed  and  much-examined  generation  that  I  vent- 
ure to  cite  it : 

"  If  by  this  inquiry  into  the  nature  of  the  understanding  I 
can  discover  the  powers  thereof,  how  far  they  reach,  to  what 
things  they  are  in  any  degree  proportionate,  and  where  they 
fail  us,  I  suppose  it  may  be  of  use  to  prevail  with  the  busy 
mind  of  man  to  be  more  cautious  in  meddling  with  things 
exceeding  its  comprehension :  to  stop  when  it  is  at  the  ut- 
most extent  of  its  tether;  and  to  sit  down  in  quiet  ignorance 
of  those  things  which,  upon  examination,  are  proved  to  be 
beyond  the  reach  of  our  capacities.  We  should  not  then, 
perhaps,  be  so  forward,  out  of  an  affectation  of  universal 
knowledge,  to  raise  questions  and  perplex  ourselves  and  oth- 
ers with  disputes  about  things  to  which  our  understandings 
are  not  suited,  and  of  which  we  cannot  frame  in  our  minds 
any  clear  and  distinct  perception,  or  whereof  (as  it  has,  per- 
haps, too  often  happened)  we  have  not  any  notion  at  all.  .  .  . 
Men  may  find  matter  sufficient  to  busy  their  heads  and  em- 
ploy their  hands  with  variety,  delight,  and  satisfaction,  if 
they  will  not  boldly  quarrel  with  their  own  constitution  and 
throw  away  the  blessings  their  hands  are  filled  with  because 
they  are  not  big  enough  to  grasp  everything.  We  shall  not 
have  much  reason  to  complain  of  the  narrowness  of  our 
minds,  if  we  will  but  employ  them  about  what  may  be  of  use 
to  us :  for  of  that  they  are  very  capable :  and  it  will  be  an 
unpardonable,  as  well  as  a  childish  peevishness,  if  we  under- 
value the  advantages  of  our  knowledge,  and  neglect  to  im- 
prove it  to  the  ends  for  which  it  was  given  us,  because  there 
are  some  things  that  are  set  out  of  the  reach  of  it.  It  will 


L]  THE  OBJECT  AND  SCOPE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  56 

be  no  excuse  to  an  idle  and  untoward  servant  who  would 
not  attend  to  his  business  by  candlelight,  to  plead  that  he 
had  not  broad  sunshine.  The  candle  that  is  set  up  in  us 
shines  bright  enough  for  all  our  purposes.  .  .  .  Our  business 
here  is  not  to  know  all  things,  but  those  which  concern  our 
conduct." l 

Hume  develops  the  same  fundamental  conception  in  a 
somewhat  different  way,  and  with  a  more  definite  indica- 
tion of  the  practical  benefits  which  may  be  expected  from 
a  critical  philosophy.  The  first  and  second  parts  of  the 
twelfth  section  of  the  Inquiry  are  devoted  to  a  condem- 
nation of  excessive  scepticism,  or  Pyrrhonism,  with  which 
Hume  couples  a  caricature  of  the  Cartesian  doubt ;  but,  in 
the  third  part,  a  certain  "  mitigated  scepticism "  is  recom- 
mended and  adopted,  under  the  title  of  "  academical  phi- 
losophy." After  pointing  out  that  a  knowledge  of  the 
infirmities  of  the  human  understanding,  even  in  its  most 
perfect  state,  and  when  most  accurate  and  cautious  in  its 
determinations,  is  the  best  check  upon  the  tendency  to 
dogmatism,  Hume  continues : — 

"Another  species  of  mitigated  scepticism,  which  may  be  of 
advantage  to  mankind,  and  which  may  be  the  natural  result 
of  the  PYRRHONIAN  doubts  and  scruples,  is  the  limitation  of 
our  inquiries  to  such  subjects  as  are  best  adapted  to  the  nar- 
row capacity  of  human  understanding.  The  imagination  of 
man  is  naturally  sublime,  delighted  with  whatever  is  remote 
and  extraordinary,  and  running,  without  control,  into  the 
most  distant  parts  of  space  and  time  in  order  to  avoid  the 
objects  which  custom  has  rendered  too  familiar  to  it.  A 
correct  judgment  observes  a  contrary  method,  and,  avoiding 
all  distant  and  high  inquiries,  confines  itself  to  common  life, 

1  Locke,  An  Essay  concerning  Human  Understanding,  Book  I.  chap. 
i.§§4,5,6. 


56  HUME.  [CHAP. 

and  to  such  subjects  as  fall  under  daily  practice  and  experi- 
ence ;  leaving  the  more  sublime  topics  to  the  embellishment 
of  poets  and  orators,  or  to  the  arts  of  priests  and  politicians. 
To  bring  us  to  so  salutary  a  determination,  nothing  can  be 
more  serviceable  than  to  be  once  thoroughly  convinced  of 
the  force  of  the  PYRRHONIAN  doubt,  and  of  the  impossibility 
that  anything  but  the  strong  power  of  natural  instinct  could 
free  us  from  it.  Those  who  have  a  propensity  to  philosophy 
will  still  continue  their  researches ;  because  they  reflect  that, 
besides  the  immediate  pleasure  attending  such  an  occupa- 
tion, philosophical  decisions  are  nothing  but  the  reflections 
of  common  life,  methodised  and  corrected.  But  they  will 
never  be  tempted  to  go  beyond  common  life,  so  long  as  they 
consider  the  imperfection  of  those  faculties  which  they  em- 
ploy, their  narrow  reach,  and  their  inaccurate  operations. 
While  we  cannot  give  a  satisfactory  reason  why  we  believe, 
after  a  thousand  experiments,  that  a  stone  will  fall  or  fire 
burn;  can  we  ever  satisfy  ourselves  concerning  any  deter- 
mination which  we  may  form  with  regard  to  the  origin  of 
worlds  and  the  situation  of  nature  from  and  to  eternity  ?" 
—(IV.  pp.  189— 90.) 

But  further,  it  is  the  business  of  criticism  not  only  to 
keep  watch  over  the  vagaries  of  philosophy,  but  to  do  the 
duty  of  police  in  the  whole  world  of  thought.  Wherever 
it  espies  sophistry  or  superstition  they  are  to  be  bidden  to 
stand ;  nay,  they  are  to  be  followed  to  their  very  dens  and 
there  apprehended  and  exterminated,  as  Othello  smothered 
Desdemona,  "  else  she'll  betray  more  men." 

Hume  warms  into  eloquence  as  he  sets  forth  the  la- 
bours meet  for  the  strength  and  the  courage  of  the  Her- 
cules of  "  mitigated  scepticism." 

"  Here,  indeed,  lies  the  justest  and  most  plausible  objection 
against  a  considerable  part  of  metaphysics,  that  they  are  not 
properly  a  science,  but  arise  either  from  the  fruitless  efforts 


i.j  THE  OBJECT  AND  SCOPE  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  67 

of  human  vanity,  which  would  penetrate  into  subjects  utterly 
inaccessible  to  the  understanding,  or  from  the  craft  of  popu- 
lar superstitions,  which,  being  unable  to  defend  themselves 
on  fair  ground,  raise  these  entangling  brambles  to  cover  and 
protect  their  weakness.  Chased  from  the  open  country, 
these  robbers  fly  into  the  forest,  and  lie  in  wait  to  break  in 
upon  every  unguarded  avenue  of  the  mind  and  overwhelm 
it  with  religious  fears  and  prejudices.  The  stoutest  antag- 
onist, if  he  remits  his  watch  a  moment,  is  oppressed ;  and 
many,  through  cowardice  and  folly,  open  the  gates  to  the 
enemies,  and  willingly  receive  them  with  reverence  and  sub- 
mission as  their  legal  sovereigns. 

"  But  is  this  a  sufficient  reason  why  philosophers  should 
desist  from  such  researches  and  leave  superstition  still  in 
possession  of  her  retreat  ?  Is  it  not  proper  to  draw  an  op- 
posite conclusion,  and  perceive  the  necessity  of  carrying  the 
war  into  the  most  secret  recesses  of  the  enemy  ?  .  .  .  .  The 
only  method  of  freeing  learning  at  once  from  these  abstruse 
questions  is  to  inquire  seriously  into  the  nature  of  human 
understanding,  and  show,  from  an  exact  analysis  of  its  powers 
and  capacity,  that  it  is  by  no  means  fitted  for  such  remote 
and  abstruse  subjects.  We  must  submit  to  this  fatigue,  in 
order  to  live  at  ease  ever  after;  and  must  cultivate  true 
metaphysics  with  some  care,  in  order  to  destroy  the  false 
and  adulterated."— (IV.  pp.  10, 11.) 

Near  a  century  and  a  half  has  elapsed  since  these  brave 
words  were  shaped  by  David  Hume's  pen ;  and  the  busi- 
ness of  carrying  the  war  into  the  enemy's  camp  has  gone 
on  but  slowly.  Like  other  campaigns,  it  long  languished 
for  want  of  a  good  base  of  operations.  But  since  phys- 
ical science,  in  the  course  of  the  last  fifty  years,  has 
brought  to  the  front  an  inexhaustible  supply  of  heavy 
artillery  of  a  new  pattern,  warranted  to  drive  solid  bolts 
of  fact  through  the  thickest  skulls,  things  are  looking 
better ;  though  hardly  more  than  the  first  faint  flutterings 


58  IICMK  [CHAP.I. 

of  the  dawn  of  the  happy  day,  when  superstition  and  false 
metaphysics  shall  be  no  more  and  reasonable  folks  may 
"  live  at  ease,"  are  as  yet  discernible  by  the  enfants  perdus 
of  the  outposts. 

If,  in  thus  conceiving  the  object  and  the  limitations  of 
philosophy,  Hume  shows  himself  the  spiritual  child  and 
continuator  of  the  work  of  Locke,  he  appears  no  less 
plainly  as  the  parent  of  Kant  and  as  the  protagonist  of 
that  more  modern  way  of  thinking,  which  has  been  called 
"  agnosticism,"  from  its  profession  of  an  incapacity  to 
discover  the  indispensable  conditions  of  either  positive 
or  negative  knowledge,  in  many  propositions,  respecting 
which  not  only  the  vulgar,  but  philosophers  of  the  more 
sanguine  sort,  revel  in  the  luxury  of  unqualified  assurance. 

The  aim  of  the  Kritik  der  reinen  Vernunft  is  essentially 
the  same  as  that  of  the  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  by 
which,  indeed,  Kant  was  led  to  develop  that  "  critical 
philosophy  "  with  which  his  name  and  fame  are  indissolu- 
bly  bound  up  :  and,  if  the  details  of  Kant's  criticism  differ 
from  those  of  Hume,  they  coincide  with  them  in  their 
main  result,  which  is  the  limitation  of  all  knowledge  of 
reality  to  the  world  of  phenomena  revealed  to  us  by 
experience. 

The  philosopher  of  Konigsberg  epitomises  the  philos- 
opher of  Ninewells  when  he  thus  sums  up  the  uses  of 
philosophy :  — 

"  The  greatest  and  perhaps  the  sole  use  of  all  philosophy 
of  pure  reason  is,  after  all,  merely  negative,  since  it  serves, 
not  as  an  organon  for  the  enlargement  [of  knowledge],  but 
as  a  discipline  for  its  delimitation ;  and  instead  of  discover- 
ing truth,  has  only  the  modest  merit  of  preventing  error."  * 

1  Kritdc  der  reinen  Vernunft.     Ed.  Hartenstein,  p.  256. 


CHAPTER  H. 

THE    CONTENTS    OF   THE    MIND. 

TN  the  language  of  common  life,  the  "  mind "  ia  spoken 
of  as  an  entity,  independent  of  the  body,  though  resident 
in  and  closely  connected  with  it,  and  endowed  with  nu- 
merous "faculties,"  such  as  sensibility,  understanding, 
memory,  volition,  which  stand  in  the  same  relation  to  the 
mind  as  the  organs  do  to  the  body,  and  perform  the  func- 
tions of  feeling,  reasoning,  remembering,  and  willing.  Of 
these  functions,  some,  such  as  sensation,  are  supposed  to 
be  merely  passive — that  is,  they  are  called  into  existence 
by  impressions  made  upon  the  sensitive  faculty  by  a 
material  world  of  real  objects,  of  which  our  sensations  are 
supposed  to  give  us  pictures  $  others,  such  as  the  memory 
and  the  reasoning  faculty,  are  considered  to  be  partly  pas- 
sive and  partly  active ;  while  volition  is  held  to  be  poten- 
tially, if  not  always  actually,  a  spontaneous  activity. 

The  popular  classification  and  terminology  of  the  phe- 
nomena of  consciousness,  however,  are  by  no  means  the 
first  crude  conceptions  suggested  by  common  sense,  but 
rather  a  legacy,  and,  in  many  respects,  a  sufficiently  dam- 
nosa  hcereditas,  of  ancient  philosophy,  more  or  less  leav- 
ened by  theology ;  which  has  incorporated  itself  with  the 
common  thought  of  later  times,  as  the  vices  of  the  aris- 
tocracy or  one  age  become  those  of  the  mob  in  the  aext 
E 


60  HUME.  [CHAP 

Very  little  attention  to  what  passes  in  the  mind  is  suffi- 
cient to  show  that  these  conceptions  involve  assumptions 
of  an  extremely  hypothetical  character.  And  the  first 
business  of  the  student  of  psychology  is  to  get  rid  of  such 
prepossessions ;  to  form  conceptions  of  mental  phenome- 
na as  they  are  given  us  by  observation,  without  any  hypo- 
thetical admixture,  or  with  only  so  much  as  is  definitely 
recognised  and  held  subject  to  confirmation  or  otherwise ; 
to  classify  these  phenomena  according  to  their  clearly 
recognisable  characters;  and  to  adopt  a  nomenclature 
which  suggests  nothing  beyond  the  results  of  observation. 
Thus  chastened,  observation  of  the  mind  makes  us  ac- 
quainted with  nothing  but  certain  events,  facts,  or  phe- 
nomena (whichever  name  be  preferred)  which  pass  over 
the  inward  field  of  view  in  rapid  and,  as  it  may  appear  on 
careless  inspection,  in  disorderly  succession,  like  the  shift- 
ing patterns  of  a  kaleidoscope.  To  all  these  mental  phe- 
nomena, or  states  of  our  consciousness,1  Descartes  gave 
the  name  of  "  thoughts," a  while  Locke  and  Berkeley 
termed  them  "  ideas."  Hume,  regarding  this  as  an  improp- 
er use  of  the  word  "  idea,"  for  which  he  proposes  another 
employment,  gives  the  general  name  of  "  perceptions  "  to 
all  states  of  consciousness.  Thus,  whatever  other  signifi- 

1  "  Consciousnesses  "  would  be  a  better  name,  but  is  awkward.  I 
have  elsewhere  proposed  psychoses  as  a  substantive  name  for  mental 
phenomena. 

*  As  this  has  been  denied,  it  may  be  as  well  to  give  Descartes's 
words:  "Par  le  mot  de  penser, j'entends  tout  ce  que  se  fait  dans 
nous  de  telle  sorte  que  nous  1'apercevons  immediatement  par  nous- 
inemes :  c'est  pourquoi  non -  seulement  entendre,  vouloir,  imaginer, 
mais  aussi  sentir,  c'est  le  m6me  chose  ici  que  penser." — Principea  de 
Philosophic.  Ed.  Cousin.  67. 

"  Toutes  les  propridtes  que  nous  trouvons  en  la  chose  qui  penflo 
ne  sent  que  des  f aeons  differentes  de  penser." — Ibid.  96. 


H.]         THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  MIND.         61 

cation  we  may  see  reason  to  attach  to  the  word  "  mind," 
it  is  certain  that  it  is  a  name  which  is  employed  to  denote 
a  series  of  perceptions;  just  as  the  word  "tune,"  what- 
ever else  it  may  mean,  denotes,  in  the  first  place,  a  succes- 
sion of  musical  notes.  Hume,  indeed,  goes  further  than 
others  when  he  says  that — 

"  What  we  call  a  mind  is  nothing  but  a  heap  or  collection 
of  different  perceptions,  united  together  by  certain  relations, 
and  supposed,  though  falsely,  to  be  endowed  with  a  perfect 
simplicity  and  identity." — (I.  p.  268.) 

With  this  "  nothing  but,"  however,  he  obviously  falls  into 
the  primal  and  perennial  error  of  philosophical  specula- 
tors— dogmatising  from  negative  arguments.  He  may  be 
right  or  wrong ;  but  the  most  he,  or  anybody  else,  can 
prove  in  favour  of  his  conclusion  is,  that  we  know  nothing 
more  of  the  mind  than  that  it  is  a  series  of  perceptions. 
Whether  there  is  something  in  the  mind  that  lies  beyond 
the  reach  of  observation ;  or  whether  perceptions  them- 
selves are  the  products  of  something  which  can  be  ob- 
served and  which  is  not  mind;  are  questions  which  can 
in  nowise  be  settled  by  direct  observation.  Elsewhere, 
the  objectionable  hypothetical  element  of  the  definition 
of  mind  is  less  prominent : — 

"  The  true  idea  of  the  human  mind  is  to  consider  it  as  a 
system  of  different  perceptions,  or  different  existences,  which 
are  linked  together  by  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect,  and 
mutually  produce,  destroy,  influence,  and  modify  each  other. 
...  In  this  respect  I  cannot  compare  the  soul  more  properly 
to  anything  than  a  republic  or  commonwealth,  in  which  the 
several  members  are  united  by  the  reciprocal  ties  of  govern- 
ment and  subordination,  and  give  rise  to  other  persons  who 
propagate  the  same  republic  in  the  incessant  changes  of  its 
parts."— (I.  p.  831.) 


62  HUME.  [CHAP. 

But,  leaving  the  question  of  the  proper  definition  of 
mind  open  for  the  present,  it  is  further  a  matter  of  di- 
rect observation  that,  when  we  take  a  general  survey  of 
all  our  perceptions  or  states  of  consciousness,  they  natu- 
rally fall  into  sundry  groups  or  classes.  Of  these  classes, 
two  are  distinguished  by  Hume  as  of  primary  importance. 
All  "perceptions,"  he  says,  are  either  "Impressions'"  or 


Under  "  impressions  "  he  includes  "  all  our  more  lively 
perceptions,  when  we  hear,  see,  feel,  love,  or  will  ;"  in  oth- 
er words,  "all  our  sensations,  passions,  and  emotions,  as 
they  make  their  first  appearance  in  the  soul."  —  (I.  p.  15.) 

"  Ideas,"  on  the  other  hand,  are  the  faint  images  of 
impressions  in  thinking  and  reasoning,  or  of  antecedent 
ideas. 

Both  impressions  and  ideas  may  be  either  simple,  when 
they  are  incapable  of  further  analysis,  or  complex,  when 
they  may  be  resolved  into  simpler  constituents.  All  sim- 
ple ideas  are  exact  copies  of  impressions  ;  but,  in  complex 
ideas,  the  arrangement  of  simple  constituents  may  be  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  the  impressions  of  which  those  simple 
ideas  are  copies. 

Thus  the  colours  red  and  blue  and  the  odour  of  a  rose 
are  simple  impressions;  while  the  ideas  of  blue,  of  red, 
and  of  rose-odour  are  simple  copies  of  these  impressions. 
But  a  red  rose  gives  us  a  complex  impression,  capable 
of  resolution  into  the  simple  impressions  of  red  colour, 
rose-scent,  and  numerous  others  ;  and  we  may  have  a  com- 
plex idea,  which  is  an  accurate,  though  faint,  copy  of  this 
complex  impression.  Once  in  possession  of  the  ideas 
of  a  red  rose  and  of  the  colour  blue,  we  may,  in  imagi- 
nation, substitute  blue  for  red;  and  thus  obtain  a  com- 
plex idea  of  a  blue  rose,  which  is  not  an  actual  copy  of 


n.]  THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  MIND.  68 

any  complex  impression,  though,  all  its  elements  are  such 
copies. 

Hume  has  been  criticised  for  making  the  distinction 
of  impressions  and  ideas  to  depend  upon  their  relative 
strength  or  vivacity.  Yet  it  would  be  hard  to  point  out 
any  other  character  by  which  the  things  signified  can  be 
distinguished.  Any  one  who  has  paid  attention  to  the 
curious  subject  of  what  are  called  "  subjective  sensations  " 
will  be  familiar  with  examples  of  the  extreme  difficulty 
which  sometimes  attends  the  discrimination  of  ideas  of 
sensation  from  impressions  of  sensation,  when  the  ideas 
are  very  vivid  or  the  impressions  are  faint.  Who  has  not 
"  fancied  "  he  heard  a  noise ;  or  has  not  explained  inatten- 
tion to  a  real  sound  by  saying,  "  I  thought  it  was  nothing 
but  my  fancy  ?"  Even  healthy  persons  are  much  more 
liable  to  both  visual  and  auditory  spectra — that  is,  ideas 
of  vision  and  sound  so  vivid  that  they  are  taken  for  new 
impressions — than  is  commonly  supposed ;  and,  in  some 
diseased  states,  ideas  of  sensible  objects  may  assume  all 
the  vividness  of  reality. 

If  ideas  are  nothing  but  copies  of  impressions,  arranged, 
either  in  the  same  order  as  that  of  the  impressions  from 
which  they  are  derived,  or  in  a  different  order,  it  follows 
that  the  ultimate  analysis  of  the  contents  of  the  mind 
turns  upon  that  of  the  impressions.  According  to  Hume, 
these  are  of  two  kinds :  either  they  are  impressions  of  sen- 
sation, or  they  are  impressions  of  reflection.  The  former 
are  those  afforded  by  the  five  senses,  together  with  pleas- 
ure and  pain.  The  latter  are  the  passions  or  the  emotions 
(which  Hume  employs  as  equivalent  terms).  Thus  the 
elementary  states  of  consciousness,  the  raw  materials  of 
knowledge,  so  to  speak,  are  either  sensations  or  emotions ; 
and  whatever  we  discover  in  the  mind,  beyond  these  ele- 


64  HUME.  [CHAP. 

mentary  states  of  consciousness,  results  from  the  combina- 
tions and  the  metamorphoses  which  they  undergo. 

It  is  not  a  little  strange  that  a  thinker  of  Hume's  capac- 
ity should  have  been  satisfied  with  the  results  of  a  psy- 
chological analysis  which  regards  some  obvious  compounds 
as  elements,  while  it  omits  altogether  a  most  important 
class  of  elementary  states. 

With  respect  to  the  former  point,  Spinoza's  masterly 
examination  of  the  Passions  in  the  third  part  of  the 
Ethics  should  have  been  known  to  Hume.1  But,  if  he 
had  been  acquainted  with  that  wonderful  piece  of  psy- 
chological anatomy,  he  would  have  learned  that  the  emo- 
tions and  passions  are  all  complex  states,  arising  from  the 
close  association  of  ideas  of  pleasure  or  pain  with  other 
ideas ;  and,  indeed,  without  going  to  Spinoza,  his  own 
acute  discussion  of  the  passions  leads  to  the  same  result,* 
and  is  wholly  inconsistent  with  his  classification  of  those 
mental  states  among  the  primary  uncompounded  materials 
of  consciousness. 

1  On  the  whole,  it  is  pleasant  to  find  satisfactory  evidence  that 
Hume  knew  nothing  of  the  works  of  Spinoza;  for  the  invariably 
abusive  manner  in  which  he  refers  to  that  type  of  the  philosophic 
hero  is  only  to  be  excused,  if  it  is  to  be  excused,  by  sheer  ignorance 
of  his  life  and  work. 

*  For  example,  in  discussing  pride  and  humility,  Hume  says : — 
"According  as  our  idea  of  ourselves  is  more  or  less  advantageous, 
we  feel  either  of  these  opposite  affections,  and  are  elated  by  pride 
or  dejected  with  humility ;  .  .  .  when  self  enters  not  into  the  con- 
sideration there  is  no  room  either  for  pride  or  humility."  That  is, 
pride  is  pleasure,  and  humility  is  pain,  associated  with  certain  con- 
ceptions of  one's  self ;  or,  as  Spinoza  puts  it : — "  Superbia  est  de 
se  prae  amore  sui  plus  justo  sentire  "  ("  amor  "  being  "  laetitia  con- 
oomitante  idea  causae  externae  ") ;  and  "  Humilitas  est  tristitia  orta 
ex  eo  quod  homo  suam  impotentiam  sive  imbecillitatem  contenv 
platur." 


ii.]  THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  MIND.  65 

If  "Hume's  "impressions  of  reflection"  are  excluded 
from  among  the  primary  elements  of  consciousness,  noth- 
ing is  left  but  the  impressions  afforded  by  the  five  senses, 
with  pleasure  and  pain.  Putting  aside  the  muscular  sense, 
which  had  not  come  into  view  in  Hume's  time,  the  ques- 
tions arise  whether  these  are  all  the  simple  undecomposa- 
ble  materials  of  thought  ?  or  whether  others  exist  of  which 
Hume  takes  no  cognizance. 

Kant  answered  the  latter  question  in  the  affirmative,  in 
the  Kritik  der  reinen  Vernunft,  and  thereby  made  one  of 
the  greatest  advances  ever  effected  in  philosophy ;  though 
it  must  be  confessed  that  the  German  philosopher's  expo- 
sition of  his  views  is  so  perplexed  in  style,  so  burdened 
with  the  weight  of  a  cumbrous  and  uncouth  scholasticism, 
that  it  is  easy  to  confound  the  unessential  parts  of  his  sys- 
tem with  those  which  are  of  profound  importance.  His 
baggage  train  is  bigger  than  his  army,  and  the  student 
who  attacks  him  is  too  often  led  to  suspect  he  has  won 
a  position  when  he  has  only  captured  a  mob  of  useless 
camp-followers. 

In  his  Principles  of  Psychology,  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer 
appears  to  me  to  have  brought  out  the  essential  truth 
which  underlies  Kant's  doctrine  in  a  far  clearer  manner 
than  any  one  else ;  but,  for  the  purpose  of  the  present 
summary  view  of  Hume's  philosophy,  it  must  suffice  if  I 
state  the  matter  in  my  own  way,  giving  the  broad  out- 
lines, without  entering  into  the  details  of  a  large  and  diffi- 
cult discussion. 

When  a  red  light  flashes  across  the  field  of  vision,  there 
arises  in  the  mind  an  "  impression  of  sensation  " — which 
we  call  red.  It  appears  to  me  that  this  sensation,  red,  is  a 
something  which  may  exist  altogether  independently  of 

any  other  impression,  or  idea,  as  an  individual  existence, 
30 


66  HUME.  [CHAP. 

It  is  perfectly  conceivable  that  a  sentient  being  should 
have  no  sense  but  vision,  and  that  he  should  have  spent 
his  existence  in  absolute  darkness,  with  the  exception  of 
one  solitary  flash  of  red  light.  That  momentary  illumina- 
tion would  suffice  to  give  him  the  impression  under  con- 
sideration; and  the  whole  content  of  his  consciousness 
might  be  that  impression ;  and,  if  he  were  endowed  with 
memory,  its  idea. 

Such  being  the  state  of  affairs,  suppose  a  second  flash  of 
red  light  to  follow  the  first.  If  there  were  no  memory  of 
the  latter,  the  state  of  the  mind  on  the  second  occasion 
would  simply  be  a  repetition  of  that  which  occurred  be- 
fore. There  would  be  merely  another  impression. 

But  suppose  memory  to  exist,  and  that  an  idea  of  the 
first  impression  is  generated ;  then,  if  the  supposed  sen- 
tient being  were  like  ourselves,  there  might  arise  in  his 
mind  two  altogether  new  impressions.  The  one  is  the 
feeling  of  the  succession  of  the  two  impressions,  the  other 
is  the  feeling  of  their  similarity. 

Yet  a  third  case  is  conceivable.  Suppose  two  flashes 
of  red  light  to  occur  together,  then  a  third  feeling  might 
arise  which  is  neither  succession  nor  similarity,  but  that 
which  we  call  co-existence. 

These  feelings,  or  their  contraries,  are  the  foundation 
of  everything  that  we  call  a  relation.  They  are  no  more 
capable  of  being  described  than  sensations  are ;  and,  as 
it  appears  to  me,  they  are  as  little  susceptible  of  analysis 
into  simpler  elements.  Like  simple  tastes  and  smells,  or 
feelings  of  pleasure  and  pain,  they  are  ultimate  irresolv- 
able facts  of  conscious  experience ;  and,  if  we  follow  the 
principle  of  Hume's  nomenclature,  they  must  be  called 
impressions  of  relation.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that 
they  differ  from  the  other  impressions,  in  requiring  the 


n.]  THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  MIND.  67 

pre-existence  of  at  least  two  of  the  latter.  Though  devoid 
of  the  slightest  resemblance  to  the  other  impressions,  they 
are,  in  a  manner,  generated  by  them.  In  fact,  we  may  re- 
gard them  as  a  kind  of  impressions  of  impressions ;  or  as 
the  sensations  of  an  inner  sense,  which  takes  cognizance 
of  the  materials  furnished  to  it  by  the  outer  senses. 

Hume  failed  as  completely  as  his  predecessors  had  done 
to  recognize  the  elementary  character  of  impressions  of 
relation ;  and,  when  he  discusses  relations,  he  falls  into  a 
chaos  of  confusion  and  self-contradiction. 

In  the  Treatise,  for  example  (Book  I.,  §  iv.),  resem- 
blance, contiguity  in  time  and  space,  and  cause  and  effect, 
are  said  to  be  the  "  uniting  principles  among  ideas,"  "  the 
bond  of  union  "  or  "  associating  quality  by  which  one  idea 
naturally  introduces  another."  Hume  affirms  that — 

"  These  qualities  produce  an  association  among  ideas,  and 
upon  the  appearance  of  one  idea  naturally  introduce  anoth- 
er." They  are  "  the  principles  of  union  or  cohesion  among 
our  simple  ideas,  and,  in  the  imagination,  supply  the  place  of 
that  inseparable  connection  by  which  they  are  united  in  our 
memory.  Here  is  a  kind  of  attraction,  which,  in  the  mental 
world,  will  be  found  to  have  as  extraordinary  effects  as  in 
the  natural,  and  to  show  itself  in  as  many  and  as  various 
forms.  Its  effects  are  everywhere  conspicuous ;  but  as  to  its 
causes  they  are  mostly  unknown,  and  must  be  resolved  into 
original  qualities  of  human  nature,  which  I  pretend  not  to 
explain."— (I.  p.  29.) 

And  at  the  end  of  this  section  Hume  goes  on  to  say — 

"Amongst  the  effects  of  this  union  or  association  of  ideas, 
there  are  none  more  remarkable  than  those  complex  ideas 
which  are  the  common  subjects  of  our  thought  and  reason- 
ing, and  generally  arise  from  some  principle  of  union  among 
4 


68  HUME.  [CHAP. 

our  simple  ideas.   These  complex  ideas  may  be  resolved  into 
relation*,  modes,  and  substances." — (Ibid.) 

In  the  next  section,  which  is  devoted  to  delations,  they 
are  spoken  of  as  qualities  "by  which  two  ideas  are  connect- 
ed together  in  the  imagination,"  or  "  which  make  objects 
admit  of  comparison,"  and  seven  kinds  of  relation  are 
enumerated,  namely,  resemblance,  identity,  space  and  time, 
quantity  or  number,  degrees  of  quality,  contrariety,  and 
cause  and  effect. 

To  the  reader  of  Hume,  whose  conceptions  are  usually 
so  clear,  definite,  and  consistent,  it  is  as  unsatisfactory  as 
it  is  surprising  to  meet  with  so  much  questionable  and  ob- 
scure phraseology  in  a  small  space.  One  and  the  same 
thing,  for  example,  resemblance,  is  first  called  a  "  quality 
of  an  idea,"  and  secondly,  a  "complex  idea."  Surely  it 
cannot  be  both.  Ideas  which  have  the  qualities  of  "re- 
semblance, contiguity,  and  cause  and  effect,"  are  said  to 
"attract  one  another"  (save  the  mark!),  and  so  become 
associated ;  though,  in  a  subsequent  part  of  the  Treatise, 
Hume's  great  effort  is  to  prove  that  the  relation  of  cause 
and  effect  is  a  particular  case  of  the  process  of  association ; 
that  is  to  say,  is  a  result  of  the  process  of  which  it  is  sup- 
posed to  be  the  cause.  Moreover,  since,  as  Hume  is  never 
weary  of  reminding  his  readers,  there  is  nothing  in  ideas 
save  copies  of  impressions,  the  qualities  of  resemblance, 
contiguity,  and  so  on,  in  the  idea,  must  have  existed  in 
the  impression  of  which  that  idea  is  a  copy ;  and  therefore 
they  must  be  either  sensations  or  emotions — from  both  of 
which  classes  they  are  excluded. 

In  fact,  in  one  place,  Hume  himself  has  an  insight  into 
the  real  nature  of  relations.  Speaking  of  equality,  in  the 
sense  of  a  relation  of  quantity,  he  says — 


ii.]  THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  MIND.  69 

"  Since  equality  is  a  relation,  it  is  not,  strictly  speaking,  a 
property  in  the  figures  themselves,  but  arises  merely  from  the 
comparison  which  the  mind  makes  between  them." — (I.  p.  70.) 

That  is  to  say,  when  two  impressions  of  equal  figures 
are  present,  there  arises  in  the  mind  a  tertium  quid,  which 
is  the  perception  of  equality.  On  his  own  principles, 
Hume  should  therefore  have  placed  this  "perception" 
among  the  ideas  of  reflection.  However,  as  we  have  seen, 
he  expressly  excludes  everything  but  the  emotions  and  the 
passions  from  this  group. 

It  is  necessary,  therefore,  to  amend  Hume's  primary 
"  geography  of  the  mind "  by  the  excision  of  one  terri- 
tory and  the  addition  of  another;  and  the  elementary 
states  of  consciousness  will  stand  thus : — 

A.  IMPRESSIONS. 

A.  Sensations  of 

a.  Smell. 

b.  Taste. 

c.  Hearing. 

d.  Sight. 

e.  Touch. 

/.  Resistance  (the  muscular  sense). 

B.  Pleasure  and  Pain, 
c.  Relations. 

a.  Co-existence. 

b.  Succession. 

c.  Similarity  and  dissimilarity. 

B.  IDEAS. 

Copies,  or  reproductions  in  memory,  of  the  foregoing. 

And  now  the  question  arises,  whether  any,  and  if  so, 
what,  portion  of  these  contents  of  the  mind  are  to  be 
termed  "  knowledge." 


70  HUME.  [CHAP. 

According  to  Locke,  "  Knowledge  is  the  perception  of 
the  agreement  or  disagreement  of  two  ideas ;"  and  Hume, 
though  he  does  not  say  so  in  so  many  words,  tacitly  ac- 
cepts the  definition.  It  follows  that  neither  simple  sen- 
sation, nor  simple  emotion,  constitutes  knowledge;  but 
that,  when  impressions  of  relation  are  added  to  these  im- 
pressions, or  their  ideas,  knowledge  arises;  and  that  all 
knowledge  is  the  knowledge  of  likenesses  and  unlike- 
nesses,  co-existences  and  successions. 

It  really  matters  very  little  in  what  sense  terms  are 
used,  so  long  as  the  same  meaning  is  always  rigidly  at- 
tached to  them ;  and,  therefore,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to 
quarrel  with  this  generally  accepted,  though  very  arbitrary, 
limitation  of  the  signification  of  "  knowledge."  But,  on 
the  face  of  the  matter,  it  is  not  obvious  why  the  impres- 
sion we  call  a  relation  should  have  a  better  claim  to  the 
title  of  knowledge  than  that  which  we  call  a  sensation  or 
an  emotion;  and  the  restriction  has  this  unfortunate  re- 
sult, that  it  excludes  all  the  most  intense  states  of  con- 
sciousness from  any  claim  to  the  title  of  "  knowledge." 

For  example,  on  this  view,  pain,  so  violent  and  absorb- 
ing as  to  exclude  all  other  forms  of  consciousness,  is  not 
knowledge;  but  becomes  a  part  of  knowledge  the  mo- 
ment we  think  of  it  in  relation  to  another  pain,  or  to 
some  other  mental  phenomenon.  Surely  this  is  somewhat 
inconvenient,  for  there  is  only  a  verbal  difference  between 
having  a  sensation  and  knowing  one  has  it :  they  are  sim- 
ply two  phrases  for  the  same  mental  state. 

But  the  "  pure  metaphysicians  "  make  great  capital  out 
of  the  ambiguity.  For,  starting  with  the  assumption  that 
all  knowledge  is  the  perception  of  relations,  and  finding 
themselves,  like  mere  common-sense  folks,  very  much  dis- 
posed to  call  sensation  knowledge,  they  at  once  gratify 


n.J  THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  MIND.  71 

that  disposition  and  save  their  consistency,  by  declaring 
that  even  the  simplest  act  of  sensation  contains  two  terms 
and  a  relation — the  sensitive  subject,  the  sensigenous  ob- 
ject, and  that  masterful  entity,  the  Ego.  From  which 
great  triad,  as  from  a  gnostic  Trinity,  emanates  an  end- 
less procession  of  other  logical  shadows  and  all  the  Fata 
Morgana  of  philosophical  dreamland. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

ORIGIN    OF    THE    IMPRESSIONS. 

ADMITTING  that  the  sensations,  the  feelings  of  pleasure 
and  pain,  and  those  of  relation,  are  the  primary  irresolva- 
ble states  of  consciousness,  two  further  lines  of  investiga- 
tion present  themselves.  The  one  leads  us  to  seek  the 
origin  of  these  "  impressions ;"  the  other,  to  inquire  into 
the  nature  of  the  steps  by  which  they  become  metamor- 
phosed into  those  compound  states  of  consciousness  which 
so  largely  enter  into  our  ordinary  trains  of  thought. 

With  respect  to  the  origin  of  impressions  of  sensation, 
Hume  is  not  quite  consistent  with  himself.  In  one  place 
(I.  p.  11V)  he  says  that  it  is  impossible  to  decide  "wheth- 
er they  arise  immediately  from  the  object,  or  are  produced 
by  the  creative  power  of  the  mind,  or  are  derived  from 
the  Author  of  our  being,"  thereby  implying  that  realism 
and  idealism  are  equally  probable  hypotheses.  But,  in 
fact,  after  the  demonstration  by  Descartes,  that  the  im- 
mediate antecedents  of  sensations  are  changes  in  the  ner- 
vous system,  with  which  our  feelings  have  no  sort  of  re- 
semblance, the  hypothesis  that  sensations  "  arise  immedi- 
ately from  the  object "  was  out  of  court ;  and  that  Hume 
fully  admitted  the  Cartesian  doctrine  is  apparent  when  he 
says  (I.  p.  272) : — 


in.]  ORIGIN  OF  THE  IMPRESSIONS.  73 

"  All  our  perceptions  are  dependent  on  our  organs  and  the 
disposition  of  our  nerves  and  animal  spirits." 

And  again,  though  in  relation  to  another  question,  he  ob- 
serves : — 

"  There  are  three  different  kinds  of  impressions  conveyed 
by  the  senses.  The  first  are  those  of  the  figure,  bulk,  motion, 
and  solidity  of  bodies.  The  second  those  of  colours,  tastes, 
smells,  sounds,  heat,  and  cold.  The  third  are  the  pains  and 
pleasures  that  arise  from  the  application  of  objects  to  our 
bodies,  as  by  the  cutting  of  our  flesh  with  steel  and  such 
like.  Both  philosophers  and  the  vulgar  suppose  the  first  of 
these  to  have  a  distinct  continued  existence.  The  vulgar 
only  regard  the  second  as  on  the  same  footing.  Both  phi- 
losophers and  the  vulgar  again  esteem  the  third  to  be  mere- 
ly perceptions,  and  consequently  interrupted  and  dependent 
beings. 

"  Now  'tis  evident  that,  whatever  may  be  our  philosoph- 
ical opinion,  colour,  sounds,  heat,  and  cold,  as  far  as  appears 
to  the  senses,  exist  after  the  same  manner  with  motion  and 
solidity ;  and  that  the  difference  we  make  between  them,  in 
this  respect,  arises  not  from  the  mere  perception.  So  strong 
is  the  prejudice  for  the  distinct  continued  existence  of  the 
former  qualities,  that  when  the  contrary  opinion  is  advanced 
by  modern  philosophers,  people  imagine  they  can  almost  re- 
fute it  from  their  reason  and  experience,  and  that  their  very 
senses  contradict  this  philosophy.  'Tis  also  evident  that 
colours,  sounds,  &c.,  are  originally  on  the  same  footing  with 
the  pain  that  arises  from  steel,  and  pleasure  that  proceeds 
from  a  fire ;  and  that  the  difference  betwixt  them  is  founded 
neither  on  perception  nor  reason,  but  on  the  imagination. 
For  as  they  are  confessed  to  be,  both  of  them,  nothing  but 
perceptions  arising  from  the  particular  configurations  and 
motions  of  the  parts  of  body,  wherein  possibly  can  their  dif- 
ference consist?  Upon  the  whole,  then,  we  may  conclude 


74  HUME.  [CHAP. 

that,  as  far  as  the  senses  are  judges,  all  perceptions  are  the 
same  in  the  manner  of  their  existence." — (I.  p.  250,  251.) 

The  last  words  of  this  passage  are  as  much  Berkeley's 
as  Hume's.  But,  instead  of  following  Berkeley  in  his  de- 
ductions from  the  position  thus  laid  down,  Hume,  as  the 
preceding  citation  shows,  fully  adopted  the  conclusion  to 
which  all  that  we  know  of  psychological  physiology  tends, 
that  the  origin  of  the  elements  of  consciousness,  no  less 
than  that  of  all  its  other  states,  is  to  be  sought  in  bodily 
changes,  the  seat  of  which  can  only  be  placed  in  the  brain. 
And,  as  Locke  had  already  done  with  less  effect,  he  states 
and  refutes  the  arguments  commonly  brought  against  the 
possibility  of  a  casual  connexion  between  the  modes  of 
motion  of  the  cerebral  substance  and  states  of  conscious- 
ness, with  great  clearness : — 

"  From  these  hypotheses  concerning  the  substance  and  local 
conjunction  of  our  perceptions  we  may  pass  to  another,  which 
is  more  intelligible  than  the  former,  and  more  important 
than  the  latter,  viz.,  concerning  the  cause  of  our  perceptions. 
Matter  and  motion,  'tis  commonly  said  in  the  schools,  how- 
ever varied,  are  still  matter  and  motion,  and  produce  only  a 
difference  in  the  position  and  situation  of  objects.  Divide 
a  body  as  often  as  you  please,  'tis  still  body.  Place  it  in 
any  figure,  nothing  ever  results  but  figure,  or  the  relation  of 
parts.  Move  it  in  any  manner,  you  still  find  motion  or  a 
change  of  relation.  "Tis  absurd  to  imagine  that  motion  in 
a  circle,  for  instance,  should  be  nothing  but  merely  motion 
in  a  circle ;  while  motion  in  another  direction,  as  in  an  el- 
lipse, should  also  be  a  passion  or  moral  reflection ;  that  the 
shocking  of  two  globular  particles  should  become  a  sensa- 
tion of  pain,  and  that  the  meeting  of  the  triangular  ones 
should  afford  a  pleasure.  Now  as  these  different  shocks  and 
variations  and  mixtures  are  the  only  changes  of  which  mat' 


ra.]  ORIGIN  OF  THE  IMPRESSIONS.  76 

ter  is  susceptible,  and  as  these  never  affora  us  any  idea  of 
thought  or  perception,  'tis  concluded  to  be  impossible  that 
thought  can  ever  be  caused  by  matter. 

"  Few  have  been  able  to  withstand  the  seeming  evidence 
of  this  argument ;  and  yet  nothing  in  the  world  is  more  easy 
than  to  refute  it.  We  need  only  reflect  upon  what  has  been 
proved  at  large,  that  we  are  never  sensible  of  any  connexion 
between  causes  and  effects,  and  that  'tis  only  by  our  expe- 
rience of  their  constant  conjunction  we  can  arrive  at  any 
knowledge  of  this  relation.  Now,  as  all  objects  which  are 
not  contrary  are  susceptible  of  a  constant  conjunction,  and  as 
no  real  objects  are  contrary,  I  have  inferred  from  these  prin- 
ciples (Part  III.  §  15)  that,  to  consider  the  matter  a  priori, 
anything  may  produce  anything,  and  that  we  shall  never  dis- 
cover a  reason  why  any  object  may  or  may  not  be  the  cause 
of  any  other,  however  great,  or  however  little,  the  resem- 
blance may  be  betwixt  them.  This  evidently  destroys  the 
precedent  reasoning  concerning  the  cause  of  thought  or  per- 
ception. For  though  there  appear  no  manner  of  connection 
betwixt  motion  and  thought,  the  case  is  the  same  with  all 
other  causes  and  effects.  Place  one  body  of  a  pound  weight 
on  one  end  of  a  lever,  and  another  body  of  the  same  weight 
on  the  other  end ;  you  will  never  find  in  these  bodies  an} 
principle  of  motion  dependent  on  their  distance  from  the 
centre,  more  than  of  thought  and  perception.  If  you  pre- 
tend, therefore,  to  prove,  a  priori,  that  such  a  position  of  bod- 
ies can  never  cause  thought,  because,  turn  it  which  way  you 
will,  it  is  nothing  but  a  position  of  bodies :  you  must,  by  the 
same  course  of  reasoning,  conclude  that  it  can  never  produce 
motion,  since  there  is  no  more  apparent  connection  in  the  one 
than  in  the  other.  But,  as  this  latter  conclusion  is  contrary 
to  evident  experience,  and  as  'tis  possible  we  may  have  a  like 
experience  in  the  operations  of  the  mind,  and  may  perceive 
a  constant  conjunction  of  thought  and  motion,  you  reason 
too  hastily  when,  from  the  mere  consideration  of  the  ideas, 
you  conclude  that  'tis  impossible  motion  can  ever  produce 
F  4* 


76  HUME.  [CHAP. 

thought,  or  a  different  position  of  parts  give  rise  to  a  differ- 
ent passion  or  reflection.  Nay,  'tis  not  only  possible  we  may 
have  such  an  experience,  but  'tis  certain  we  have  it;  since 
every  one  may  perceive  that  the  different  dispositions  of  his 
body  change  his  thoughts  and  sentiments.  And  should  it 
be  said  that  this  depends  on  the  union  of  soul  and  body,  I 
would  answer,  that  we  must  separate  the  question  concern- 
ing the  substance  of  the  mind  from  that  concerning  the 
cause  of  its  thought;  and  that,  confining  ourselves  to  the 
latter  question,  we  find,  by  the  comparing  their  ideas,  that 
thought  and  motion  are  different  from  each  other,  and  by 
experience,  that  they  are  constantly  united ;  which,  being  all 
the  circumstances  that  enter  into  the  idea  of  cause  and  ef- 
fect, when  applied  to  the  operations  of  matter,  we  may  cer- 
tainly conclude  that  motion  may  be,  and  actually  is,  the 
cause  of  thought  and  perception." — (I.  pp.  314 — 316.) 

The  upshot  of  all  this  is,  that  the  "  collection  of  per- 
ceptions," which  constitutes  the  mind,  is  really  a  system 
of  effects,  the  causes  of  which  are  to  be  sought  in  antece- 
dent changes  of  the  matter  of  the  brain,  just  as  the  "  col- 
lection of  motions,"  which  we  call  flying,  is  a  system  of 
effects,  the  causes  of  which  are  to  be  sought  in  the  modes 
of  motion  of  the  matter  of  the  muscles  of  the  wings. 

Hume,  however,  treats  of  this  important  topic  only  in- 
cidentally. He  seems  to  have  had  very  little  acquaintance 
even  with  such  physiology  as  was  current  in  his  time.  At 
least,  the  only  passage  of  his  works  bearing  on  this  sub- 
ject, with  which  I  am  acquainted,  contains  nothing  but  a 
very  odd  version  of  the  physiological  views  of  Descartes : — 

"  When  I  received  the  relations  of  resemblance,  contiguity, 
and  causation,  as  principles  of  union  among  ideas,  without 
examining  into  their  causes,  'twas  more  in  prosecution  of  my 
first  maxim,  that  we  must  in  the  end  rest  contented  with 


in.]  ORIGIN  OF  THE  IMPRESSIONS.  77 

experience,  than  for  want  of  something  specious  and  plausi- 
ble which  I  might  have  displayed  on  that  subject.  'Twould 
have  been  easy  to  have  made  an  imaginary  dissection  of  the 
brain,  and  have  shown  why,  upon  our  conception  of  any  idea, 
the  animal  spirits  run  into  all  the  contiguous  traces  and  rouse 
up  the  other  ideas  that  are  related  to  it.  But  though  I  have 
neglected  any  advantage  which  I  might  have  drawn  from 
this  topic  in  explaining  the  relations  of  ideas,  I  am  af  aid  I 
must  here  have  recourse  to  it,  in  order  to  account  for  the 
mistakes  that  arise  from  these  relations.  I  shall  therefore 
observe,  that  as  the  mind  is  endowed  with  the  power  of  ex- 
citing any  idea  it  pleases ;  whenever  it  despatches  the  spir- 
its into  that  region  of  the  brain  in  which  the  idea  is  placed ; 
these  spirits  always  excite  the  idea,  when  they  run  precisely 
into  the  proper  traces  and  rummage  that  cell  which  belongs 
to  the  idea.  But  as  their  motion  is  seldom  direct,  and  natu- 
rally turns  a  little  to  the  one  side  or  to  the  other;  for  this 
reason  the  animal  spirits,  falling  into  the  contiguous  traces, 
present  other  related  ideas,  in  lieu  of  that  which  the  mind 
desired  at  first  to  survey.  This  change  we  are  not  always 
sensible  of;  but  continuing  still  the  same  train  of  thought, 
make  use  of  the  related  idea  which  is  presented  to  us  and 
employ  it  in  our  reasonings,  as  if  it  were  the  same  with  what 
we  demanded.  This  is  the  cause  of  many  mistakes  and  soph- 
isms in  philosophy,  as  will  naturally  be  imagined,  and  as  it 
would  be  easy  to  show,  if  there  was  occasion." — {I.  p.  88.) 

Perhaps  it  is  as  well  for  Hume's  fame  that  the  occasion 
for  further  physiological  speculations  of  this  sort  did  not 
arise.  But,  while  admitting  the  crudity  of  his  notions 
and  the  strangeness  of  the  language  in  which  they  are 
couched,  it  must  in  justice  be  remembered,  that  what  are 
now  known  as  the  elements  of  the  physiology  of  the  ner- 
vous system  were  hardly  dreamed  of  in  the  first  half  of 
the  eighteenth  century ;  and,  as  a  further  set-off  to  Hume's 
credit,  it  must  be  noted  that  he  grasped  the  fundamental 


78  HUME.  [our. 

truth,  that  the  key  to  the  comprehension  of  mental  oper- 
ations lies  in  the  study  of  the  molecular  changes  of  the 
nervous  apparatus  by  which  they  are  originated. 

Surely  no  one  who  is  cognisant  of  the  facts  of  the  case, 
nowadays,  doubts  that  the  roots  of  psychology  lie  in  the 
physiology  of  the  nervous  system.  What  we  call  the  op- 
erations of  the  mind  are  functions  of  the  brain,  and  the 
materials  of  consciousness  are  products  of  cerebral  activi- 
ty. Cabanis  may  have  made  use  of  crude  and  misleading 
phraseology  when  he  said  that  the  brain  secretes  thought 
as  the  liver  secretes  bile ;  but  the  conception  which  that 
much -abused  phrase  embodies  is,  nevertheless,  far  more 
consistent  with  fact  than  the  popular  notion  that  the 
mind  is  a  metaphysical  entity  seated  in  the  head,  but  as 
independent  of  the  brain  as  a  telegraph  operator  is  of  his 
instrument. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  point  out  that  the  doctrine 
just  laid  down  is  what  is  commonly  called  materialism. 
In  fact,  I  am  not  sure  that  the  adjective  "crass,"  which 
appears  to  have  a  special  charm  for  rhetorical  sciolists, 
would  not  be  applied  to  it.  But  it  is,  nevertheless,  true 
that  the  doctrine  contains  nothing  inconsistent  with  the 
purest  idealism.  For,  as  Hume  remarks  (as  indeed  Des- 
cartes had  observed  long  before) : — 

"  'Tis  not  our  body  we  perceive  when  we  regard  our  limbs 
and  members,  but  certain  impressions  which  enter  by  the 
senses;  so  that  the  ascribing  a  real  and  corporeal  existence 
to  these  impressions,  or  to  their  objects,  is  an  act  of  the  mind 
as  difficult  to  explain  as  that  [the  external  existence  of  ob- 
jects] which  we  examine  at  present." — (I.  p.  249.) 

Therefore,  if  we  analyse  the  proposition  that  all  mental 
phenomena  are  the  effects  or  products  of  material  phe- 


nij  ORIGIN  OF  THE  IMPRESSIONS.  7» 

nomcna,  all  that  it  means  amounts  to  this ;  that  whenever 
those  states  of  consciousness  which  we  call  sensation,  or 
emotion,  or  thought,  come  into  existence,  complete  investi- 
gation will  show  good  reason  for  the  belief  that  they  are 
preceded  by  those  other  phenomena  of  consciousness  to 
which  we  give  the  names  of  matter  and  motion.  All  ma- 
terial changes  appear,  in  the  long  run,  to  be  modes  of  mo- 
tion ;  but  our  knowledge  of  motion  is  nothing  but  that  of 
a  change  in  the  place  and  order  of  our  sensations ;  just  as 
our  knowledge  of  matter  is  restricted  to  those  feelings  of 
which  we  assume  it  to  be  the  cause. 

It  has  already  been  pointed  out  that  Hume  must  have 
admitted,  and  in  fact  does  admit,  the  possibility  that  the 
mind  is  a  Leibnitzian  monad,  or  a  Fichtean  world-gener- 
ating Ego,  the  universe  of  things  being  merely  the  pict- 
ure produced  by  the  evolution  of  the  phenomena  of  con- 
sciousness. For  any  demonstration  that  can  be  given  to 
the  contrary  effect,  the  "  collection  of  perceptions  "  which 
makes  up  our  consciousness  may  be  an  orderly  phantas- 
magoria generated  by  the  Ego,  unfolding  its  successive 
scenes  on  the  background  of  the  abyss  of  nothingness ;  as 
a  firework,  which  is  but  cunningly  arranged  combustibles, 
grows  from  a  spark  into  a  coruscation,  and  from  a  corus- 
cation into  figures,  and  words,  and  cascades  of  devouring 
fire,  and  then  vanishes  into  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  must  no  less  readily  be  allowed 
that,  for  anything  that  can  be  proved  to  the  contrary, 
there  may  be  a  real  something  which  is  the  cause  of  all 
our  impressions ;  that  sensations,  though  not  likenesses, 
are  symbols  of  that  something ;  and  that  the  part  of  that 
something,  which  we  call  the  nervous  system,  is  an  appa- 
ratus for  supplying  us  with  a  sort  of  algebra  of  fact,  based 
on  those  symbols.  A  brain  may  be  the  machinery  by 


80  HUME. 

which  the  material  universe  becomes  conscious  of  itself. 
But  it  is  important  to  notice  that,  even  if  this  conception 
of  the  universe  and  of  the  relation  of  consciousness  to  its 
other  components  should  be  true,  we  should,  nevertheless, 
be  still  bound  by  the  limits  of  thought,  still  unable  to  refute 
the  arguments  of  pure  idealism.  The  more  completely  the 
materialistic  position  is  admitted,  the  easier  it  is  to  show 
that  the  idealistic  position  is  unassailable,  if  the  idealist 
confines  himself  within  the  limits  of  positive  knowledge. 

Hume  deals  with  the  questions  whether  all  our  ideas 
are  derived  from  experience,  or  whether,  on  the  contrary, 
more  or  fewer  of  them  are  innate,  which  so  much  exer- 
cised the  mind  of  Locke,  after  a  somewhat  summary  fash- 
ion, in  a  note  to  the  second  section  of  the  Inquiry : — 

"  It  is  probable  that  no  more  was  meant  by  those  who  de- 
nied innate  ideas,  than  that  all  ideas  were  copies  of  our  im- 
pressions ;  though  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  terms  which 
they  employed  were  not  chosen  with  such  caution,  nor  so  ex- 
actly defined,  as  to  prevent  all  mistakes  about  their  doctrine. 
For  what  is  meant  by  innate?  If  innate  be  equivalent  to 
natural,  then  all  the  perceptions  and  ideas  of  the  mind  must 
be  allowed  to  be  innate  or  natural,  in  whatever  sense  we  take 
the  latter  word,  whether  in  opposition  to  what  is  uncommon, 
artificial,  or  miraculous.  If  by  innate  be  meant  contempo- 
rary with  our  birth,  the  dispute  seems  to  be  frivolous ;  nor 
is  it  worth  while  to  inquire  at  what  time  thinking  begins, 
whether  before,  at,  or  after  our  birth.  Again,  the  word  idea 
seems  to  be  commonly  taken  in  a  very  loose  sense  by  Locke 
and  others,  as  standing  for  any  of  our  perceptions,  our  sensa- 
tions and  passions,  as  well  as  thoughts.  Now  in  this  sense  I 
should  desire  to  know  what  can  be  meant  by  asserting  that 
self-love,  or  resentment  of  injuries,  or  the  passion  between  the 
sexes  is  not  innate  ? 


m.J  ORIGIN  OF  THE  IMPRESSIONS.  81 

"  But  admitting  these  terms,  impressions  and  ideas,  in  the 
sense  above  explained,  and  understanding  by  innate  what 
is  original  or  copied  from  no  precedent  perception,  then  we 
may  assert  that  all  our  impressions  are  innate,  and  our  ideas 
not  innate." 

It  would  seem  that  Hume  did  not  think  it  worth  while 
to  acquire  a  comprehension  of  the  real  points  at  issue  in 
the  controversy  which  he  thus  carelessly  dismisses. 

Yet  Descartes  has  defined  what  he  means  by  innate 
ideas  with  so  much  precision,  that  misconception  ought  to 
have  been  impossible.  He  says  that,  when  he  speaks  of 
an  idea  being  "  innate,"  he  means  that  it  exists  potentially 
in  the  mind,  before  it  is  actually  called  into  existence  by 
whatever  is  its  appropriate  exciting  cause. 

"  I  have  never  either  thought  or  said,"  he  writes, "  that 
the  mind  has  any  need  of  innate  ideas  [idees  naturelles] 
which  are  anything  distinct  from  its  faculty  of  thinking. 
But  it  is  true  that  observing  that  there  are  certain  thoughts 
which  arise  neither  from  external  objects  nor  from  the  deter- 
mination of  my  will,  but  only  from  my  faculty  of  thinking ; 
in  order  to  mark  the  difference  between  the  ideas  or  the 
notions  which  are  the  forms  of  these  thoughts,  and  to  dis- 
tinguish them  from  the  others,  which  may  be  called  extra- 
neous or  voluntary,  I  have  called  them  innate.  But  I  have 
used  this  term  in  the  same  sense  as  when  we  say  that  gener- 
osity is  innate  in  certain  families ;  or  that  certain  maladies, 
such  as  gout  or  gravel,  are  innate  in  others ;  not  that  chil- 
dren born  in  these  families  are  troubled  with  such  diseases 
in  their  mother's  womb,  but  because  they  are  born  with  the 
disposition  or  the  faculty  of  contracting  them."  * 

1  Remarques  de  Rene1  Descartes  sur  un  certain  placard  imprim6 
aux  Pays  Bas  vers  la  fin  de  I'ann6e,  1647. — Descartes,  (Euvres.  Ed. 
Cousin,  x.  p.  71. 
31 


82  HUME.  [CHAT. 

His  troublesome  disciple,  Regius,  having  asserted  that 
all  our  ideas  come  from  observation  or  tradition,  Descartes 
remarks : — 

"  So  thoroughly  erroneous  is  this  assertion,  that  whoever 
has  a  proper  comprehension  of  the  action  of  our  senses, 
and  understands  precisely  the  nature  of  that  which  is  trans- 
mitted by  them  to  our  thinking  faculty,  will  rather  affirm 
that  no  ideas  of  things,  such  as  are  formed  in  thought,  are 
brought  to  us  by  the  senses,  so  that  there  is  nothing  in  our 
ideas  which  is  other  than  innate  in  the  mind  (naturd  d  Fes- 
prit),  or  in  the  faculty  of  thinking,  if  only  certain  circum 
stances  are  excepted,  which  belong  only  to  experience.  For 
example,  it  is  experience  alone  which  causes  us  to  judge  that 
such  and  such  ideas,  now  present  in  our  minds,  are  related 
to  certain  things  which  are  external  to  us  ;  not  in  truth,  that 
they  have  been  sent  into  our  mind  by  these  things,  such  as 
they  are,  by  the  organs  of  the  senses ;  but  because  these  or- 
gans have  transmitted  something  which  has  occasioned  the 
mind,  in  virtue  of  its  innate  power,  to  form  them  at  this  time 
rather  than  at  another.  .  .  . 

"  Nothing  passes  from  external  objects  to  the  soul  except 
certain  motions  of  matter  (mouvemens  corporels),  but  neither 
these  motions,  nor  the  figures  which  they  produce,  are  con- 
ceived by  us  as  they  exist  in  the  sensory  organs,  as  I  have 
fully  explained  in  my  'Dioptrics;'  whence  it  follows  that 
even  the  ideas  of  motion  and  of  figures  are  innate  (natureUe- 
ment  en  nous).  And,  d  fortiori,  the  ideas  of  pain,  of  colours, 
of  sounds,  and  of  all  similar  things  must  be  innate,  in  order 
that  the  mind  may  represent  them  to  itself,  on  the  occasion 
of  certain  motions  of  matter  with  which  they  have  no  re- 
semblance." 

Whoever  denies  what  is,  in  fact,  an  inconceivable  prop- 
osition, that  sensations  pass,  as  such,  from  the  external 
world  into  the  mind,  must  admit  the  conclusion  here  laid 


ra.]  ORIGIN  OF  THE  IMPRESSIONS.  83 

down  by  Descartes,  that,  strictly  speaking,  sensations,  and, 
a  fortiori,  all  the  other  contents  of  the  mind,  are  innate. 
Or,  to  state  the  matter  in  accordance  with  the  views  pre- 
viously expounded,  that  they  are  products  of  the  inherent 
properties  of  the  thinking  organ,  in  whieh  they  lie  poten- 
tially, before  they  are  called  into  existence  by  their  appro- 
priate causes. 

But  if  all  the  contents  of  the  mind  are  innate,  what  is 
meant  by  experience  ? 

It  is  the  conversion,  by  unknown  causes,  of  these  in- 
nate potentialities  into  actual  existences.  The  organ  of 
thought,  prior  to  experience,  may  be  compared  to  an  un- 
touched piano,  in  which  it  may  be  properly  said  that  mu- 
sic is  innate,  inasmuch  as  its  mechanism  contains,  poten- 
tially, so  many  octaves  of  musical  notes.  The  unknown 
cause  of  sensation  which  Descartes  calls  the  "je  ne  sais 
quoi  dans  les  objets  "  or  "  choses  telles  qu'elles  sont ;"  and 
Kant  the  "  Noumenon  "  or  "  Ding  an  sich ;"  is  represented 
by  the  musician,  who,  by  touching  the  keys,  converts  the 
potentiality  of  the  mechanism  into  actual  sounds.  A  note 
so  produced  is  the  equivalent  of  a  single  experience. 

All  the  melodies  and  harmonies  that  proceed  from  the 
piano  depend  upon  the  action  of  the  musician  upon  the 
keys.  There  is  no  internal  mechanism  which,  when  cer- 
tain keys  are  struck,  gives  rise  to  an  accompaniment  of 
which  the  musician  is  only  indirectly  the  cause.  Accord- 
ing to  Descartes,  however — and  this  is  what  is  generally 
fixed  upon  as  the  essence  of  his  doctrine  of  innate  ideas — 
the  mind  possesses  such  an  internal  mechanism,  by  which 
certain  classes  of  thoughts  are  generated,  on  the  occasion 
of  certain  experiences.  Such  thoughts  are  innate,  just  as 
sensations  are  innate;  they  are  not  copies  of  sensations, 
any  more  than  sensations  are  copies  of  motions ;  they  are 


84  HUME.  [CHAP. 

invariably  generated  in  the  mind,  when  certain  experi- 
ences arise  in  it,  just  as  sensations  are  invariably  generated 
when  certain  bodily  motions  take  place ;  they  are  univer- 
sal, inasmuch  as  they  arise  under  the  same  conditions  in 
all  men ;  they  are  necessary,  because  their  genesis  under 
these  conditions  is  invariable.  These  innate  thoughts  are 
what  Descartes  terms  "  ve'rites  "  or  truths ;  that  is,  beliefs 
— and  his  notions  respecting  them  are  plainly  set  forth  in 
a  passage  of  the  Principes. 

"Thus  far  I  have  discussed  that  which  we  know  as 
things:  it  remains  that  I  should  speak  of  that  which  we 
know  as  truths.  For  example,  when  we  think  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  make  anything  out  of  nothing,  we  do  not  imag- 
ine that  this  proposition  is  a  thing  which  exists,  or  a  proper- 
ty of  something,  but  we  take  it  for  a  certain  eternal  truth, 
which  has  its  seat  in  the  mind  (pensee),  and  is  called  a  com- 
mon notion  or  an  axiom.  Similarly,  when  we  affirm  that  it 
is  impossible  that  one  and  the  same  thing  should  exist  and 
not  exist  at  the  same  time ;  that  that  which  has  been  created 
should  not  have  been  created ;  that  he  who  thinks  must  ex- 
ist while  he  thinks ;  and  a  number  of  other  like  proposi- 
tions— these  are  only  truths,  and  not  things  which  exist  out- 
side our  thoughts.  And  there  is  such  a  number  of  these 
that  it  would  be  wearisome  to  enumerate  them:  nor  is  it 
necessary  to  do  so,  because  we  cannot  fail  to  know  them 
when  the  occasion  of  thinking  about  them  presents  itself, 
and  we  are  not  blinded  by  any  prejudices." 

It  would  appear  that  Locke  was  not  more  familiar  with 
Descartes'  writings  than  Hume  seems  to  have  been ;  for, 
viewed  in  relation  to  the  passages  just  cited,  the  argu- 
ments adduced  in  his  famous  polemic  against  innate  ideas 
are  totally  irrelevant. 

It  has  been  shown  that  Hume  practically,  if  not  in  so 


m.]  ORIGIN  OF  THE  IMPRESSIONS.  86 

many  words,  admits  the  justice  of  Descartes'  assertion 
that,  strictly  speaking,  sensations  are  innate ;  that  is  to 
say,  that  they  are  the  product  of  the  reaction  of  the  or- 
gan of  the  mind  on  the  stimulus  of  an  "  unknown  cause," 
which  is  Descartes'  "  je  ne  sais  quoi."  Therefore,  the  dif- 
ference between  Descartes'  opinion  and  that  of  Hume  re- 
solves itself  into  this :  Given  sensation-experiences,  can  all 
the  contents  of  consciousness  be  derived  from  the  collo- 
cation and  metamorphosis  of  these  experiences  ?  Or,  are 
new  elements  of  consciousness,  products  of  an  innate  po- 
tentiality distinct  from  sensibility,  added  to  these  ?  Hume 
affirms  the  former  position,  Descartes  the  latter.  If  the 
analysis  of  the  phenomena  of  consciousness  given  in  the 
preceding  pages  is  correct,  Hume  is  in  error;  while  the 
father  of  modern  philosophy  had  a  truer  insight,  though 
he  overstated  the  case.  For  want  of  sufficiently  searching 
psychological  investigations,  Descartes  was  led  to  suppose 
that  innumerable  ideas,  the  evolution  of  which  in  the 
course  of  experience  can  be  demonstrated,  were  direct  or 
innate  products  of  the  thinking  faculty. 

As  has  been  already  pointed  out,  it  is  the  great  merit 
of  Kant  that  he  started  afresh  on  the  track  indicated  by 
Descartes,  and  steadily  upheld  the  doctrine  of  the  exist- 
ence of  elements  of  consciousness,  which  are  neither  sense- 
experiences  nor  any  modifications  of  them.  We  may  de- 
mur to  the  expression  that  space  and  time  are  forms  of 
sensory  intuition ;  but  it  imperfectly  represents  the  great 
fact  that  co-existence  and  succession  are  mental  phenom- 
ena not  given  in  the  mere  sense-experience.1 

1  "  Wir  konnen  uns  keinen  Gegenstand  denken,  ohne  durch  Kate- 
gorien ;  wir  konnen  keinen  gedachten  Gegenstand  erkennen,  ohne 
durch  Anschauungen,  die  jenen  Begriffen  entsprechen.  Nun  sind 
alle  unsere  Anschauungen  sinnlich,  und  diese  Erkenntniss,  so  feru 


86  HUME.  [CHAP.  m. 

der  Gegcnstand  derselben  gegebcn  ist,  1st  empiriach.  Empirische 
Erkenntniss  aber  ist  Erfabrung.  Folglich  ist  uns  keine  Erkennt- 
niss  a  priori  moglicb,  als  lediglich  von  Gcgcnstiinden  moglicher 
Erfahrung. 

"Aber  diese  Erkenntniss,  die  bloss  auf  Gegenstande  der  Erfahrung 
eingeschrankt  ist,  ist  darum  nicht  alle  von  der  Erfahrung  entlehnt. 
sondern  was  sowohl  die  reinen  Anschauungen,  als  die  reinen  Ver> 
standesbegriffe  betrifft,  so  sind  sie  Elemente  der  Erkenntniss  die  in 
uns  a  priori  angetroffen  werden." — Kritik  der  reinen  Vernunft.  ELe- 
mentarlehre,  p.  185. 

Without  a  glossary  explanatory  of  Kant's  terminology,  this  pas- 
sage would  be  hardly  intelligible  in  a  translation ;  but  it  may  be  par. 
aphrased  thus :  All  knowledge  is  founded  upon  experiences  of  sensa. 
tion,  but  it  is  not  all  derived  from  those  experiences ;  inasmuch  as 
the  impressions  of  relation  ("  reine  Anschauungen ;"  "  reine  Verstan- 
desbegriffe  ")  have  a  potential  or  a  priori  existence  in  us,  and  bj 
their  addition  to  sense-experiences,  constitute  knowledge' 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  CLASSIFICATION  AND    THE    NOMENCLATURE  OF  MENTAL 
OPERATIONS. 

IF,  as  has  been  set  forth  in  the  preceding  chapter,  all  men- 
tal states  are  effects  of  physical  causes,  it  follows  that  what 
are  called  mental  faculties  and  operations  are,  properly 
speaking,  cerebral  functions,  allotted  to  definite,  though 
not  yet  precisely  assignable,  parts  of  the  brain. 

These  functions  appear  to  be  reducible  to  three  groups, 
namely :  Sensation,  Correlation,  and  ideation. 

The  organs  of  the  functions  of  sensation  and  correla- 
tion are  those  portions  of  the  cerebral  substance,  the  mo- 
lecular changes  of  which  give  rise  to  impressions  of  sen- 
sation and  impressions  of  relation. 

The  changes  in  the  nervous  matter  which  bring  about 
the  effects  which  we  call  its  functions,  follow  upon  some 
kind  of  stimulus,  and  rapidly  reaching  their  maximum,  as 
rapidly  die  away.  The  effect  of  the  irritation  of  a  nerve- 
fibre  on  the  cerebral  substance  with  which  it  is  connected 
may  be  compared  to  the  pulling  of  a  long  bell-wire.  The 
impulse  takes  a  little  time  to  reach  the  bell ;  the  bell  rings 
and  then  becomes  quiescent,  until  another  pull  is  given. 
So,  in  the  brain,  every  sensation  is  the  ring  of  a  cerebral 
particle,  the  effect  of  a  momentary  impulse  sent  along  a 
nerve-fibre. 


88  HUME.  [CHAP. 

If  there  were  a  complete  likeness  between  the  two 
terms  of  this  very  rough  and  ready  comparison,  it  is  ob- 
vious that  there  could  be  no  such  thing  as  memory.  A 
bell  records  no  audible  sign  of  having  been  rung  five  min- 
utes ago,  and  the  activity  of  a  sensigenous  cerebral  par- 
ticle might  similarly  leave  no  trace.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, again,  it  would  seem  that  the  only  impressions  of 
relation  which  could  arise  would  be  those  of  co-existence 
and  of  similarity.  For  succession  implies  memory  of  an 
antecedent  state.1 

But  the  special  peculiarity  of  the  cerebral  apparatus  is, 
that  any  given  function  which  has  once  been  performed 
is  very  easily  set  a-going  again,  by  causes  more  or  less 
different  from  those  to  which  it  owed  its  origin.  Of  the 
mechanism  of  this  generation  of  images  of  impressions  or 
ideas  (in  Hume's  sense),  which  may  be  termed  Ideation, 
we  know  nothing  at  present,  though  the  fact  and  its  re- 
sults are  familiar  enough. 

During  our  waking,  and  many  of  our  sleeping,  hours, 
in  fact,  the  function  of  ideation  is  in  continual,  if  not  con- 
tinuous, activity.  Trains  of  thought,  as  we  call  them, 
succeed  one  another  without  intermission,  even  when  the 
starting  of  new  trains  by  fresh  sense-impressions  is  as  far 
as  possible  prevented.  The  rapidity  and  the  intensity  of 
this  ideational  process  are  obviously  dependent  upon  phys- 
iological conditions.  The  widest  differences  in  these  re- 
spects are  constitutional  in  men  of  different  tempera- 
ments ;  and  are  observable  in  oneself,  under  varying  con- 
ditions of  hunger  and  repletion,  fatigue  and  freshness, 

1  It  is  not  worth  while,  for  the  present  purpose,  to  consider  wheth- 
er, as  all  nervous  action  occupies  a  sensible  time,  the  duration  of  one 
impression  might  not  overlap  that  of  the  impression  which  follows  it, 
in  the  case  supposed. 


iv.]         NOMENCLATURE  OF  MENTAL  OPERATIONS.  89 

calmness  and  emotional  excitement.  The  influence  of 
diet  on  dreams ;  of  stimulants  upon  the  fulness  and  the 
velocity  of  the  stream  of  thought ;  the  delirious  phantasms 
generated  by  disease,  by  hashish,  or  by  alcohol — will  oc- 
cur to  every  one  as  examples  of  the  marvellous  sensitive- 
ness of  the  apparatus  of  ideation  to  purely  physical 
influences. 

The  succession  of  mental  states  in  ideation  is  not  for' 
tuitous,  but  follows  the  law  of  association,  which  may  be 
stated  thus :  that  every  idea  tends  to  be  followed  by  some 
other  idea  which  is  associated  with  the  first,  or  its  im- 
pression, by  a  relation  of  succession,  of  contiguity,  or  of 
likeness. 

Thus  the  idea  of  the  word  horse  just  now  presented 
itself  to  my  mind,  and  was  followed  in  quick  succession 
by  the  ideas  of  four  legs,  hoofs,  teeth,  rider,  saddle,  racing, 
cheating ;  all  of  which  ideas  are  connected  in  my  experi- 
ence with  the  impression,  or  the  idea,  of  a  horse  and  with 
one  another,  by  the  relations  of  contiguity  and  succession. 
No  great  attention  to  what  passes  in  the  mind  is  needful 
to  prove  that  our  trains  of  thought  are  neither  to  be  ar- 
rested, nor  even  permanently  controlled,  by  our  desires  or 
emotions.  Nevertheless  they  are  largely  influenced  by 
them.  In  the  presence  of  a  strong  desire,  or  emotion,  the 
stream  of  thought  no  longer  flows  on  in  a  straight  course, 
but  seems,  as  it  were,  to  eddy  round  the  idea  of  that  which 
is  the  object  of  the  emotion.  Every  one  who  has  "  eaten 
his  bread  in  sorrow  "  knows  how  strangely  the  current  of 
ideas  whirls  about  the  conception  of  the  object  of  regret 
or  remorse  as  a  centre ;  every  now  and  then,  indeed,  break- 
ing away  into  the  new  tracks  suggested  by  passing  asso- 
ciations, but  still  returning  to  the  central  thought.  Few 
can  have  been  so  happy  as  to  have  escaped  the  social  bore, 


90  HUME.  [CBAF. 

whose  pet  notion  is  certain  to  crop  up  whatever  topic  is 
started;  while  the  fixed  idea  of  the  monomaniac  is  but 
the  extreme  form  of  the  same  phenomenon. 

And  as,  on  the  one  hand,  it  is  so  hard  to  drive  away 
the  thought  we  would  fain  be  rid  of ;  so,  upon  the  other, 
the  pleasant  imaginations  which  we  would  so  gladly  retain 
are,  sooner  or  later,  jostled  away  by  the  crowd  of  claim- 
ants for  birth  into  the  world  of  consciousness;  which 
hover  as  a  sort  of  psychical  possibilities,  or  inverse  ghosts, 
the  bodily  presentments  of  spiritual  phenomena  to  be,  in 
the  limbo  of  the  brain.  In  that  form  of  desire  which  is 
called  "  attention,"  the  train  of  thought,  held  fast,  for  a 
time,  in  the  desired  direction,  seems  ever  striving  to  get 
on  to  another  line — and  the  junctions  and  sidings  are  so 
multitudinous ! 

The  constituents  of  trains  of  ideas  may  be  grouped  in 
various  ways. 
Hume  says : — 

"  We  find,  by  experience,  that  when  any  impression  has 
been  present  in  the  mind,  it  again  makes  its  appearance 
there  as  an  idea,  and  this  it  may  do  in  two  different  ways : 
either  when,  on  its  new  appearance,  it  retains  a  considerable 
degree  of  its  first  vivacity,  and  is  somewhat  intermediate  be- 
tween an  impression  and  an  idea ;  or  when  it  entirely  loses 
that  vivacity,  and  is  a  perfect  idea.  The  faculty  by  which 
we  repeat  our  impressions  in  the  first  manner  is  called  the 
memory,  and  the  other  the  imagination." — (I.  p.  23, 24.) 

And  he  considers  that  the  only  difference  between  ideas 
of  imagination  and  those  of  memory,  except  the  superior 
vivacity  of  the  latter,  lies  in  the  fact  that  those  of  meraorv 
preserve  the  original  order  of  the  impressions  from  which 


IT.]         NOMENCLATURE  OF  MENTAL  OPERATIONS.          91 

they  are  derived,  while  the  imagination  "  is  free  to  trans- 
pose and  change  its  ideas." 

The  latter  statement  of  the  difference  between  memory 
and  imagination  is  less  open  to  cavil  than  the  former, 
thongh  by  no  means  unassailable. 

The  special  characteristic  of  a  memory,  surely,  is  not  its 
vividness ;  but  that  it  is  a  complex  idea,  in  which  the  idea 
of  that  which  is  remembered  is  related  by  co- existence 
with  other  ideas,  and  by  antecedence  with  present  im- 
pressions. 

If  I  say  I  remember  A.  B.,  the  chance  acquaintance  of 
ten  years  ago,  it  is  not  because  my  idea  of  A.  B.  is  very 
vivid — on  the  contrary,  it  is  extremely  faint — but  because 
that  idea  is  associated  with  ideas  of  impressions  co-exist- 
ent with  those  which  I  call  A.  B. ;  and  that  all  these  are 
at  the  end  of  the  long  series  of  ideas,  which  represent  that 
much  past  time.  In  truth,  I  have  a  much  more  vivid  idea 
of  Mr.  Pickwick,  or  of  Colonel  Newcome,  than  I  have  of 
A.  B. ;  but,  associated  with  the  ideas  of  these  persons,  I 
have  no  idea  of  their  having  ever  been  derived  from  the 
world  of  impressions;  and  so  they  are  relegated  to  the 
world  of  imagination.  On  the  other  hand,  the  character- 
istic of  an  imagination  may  properly  be  said  to  lie  not  in 
its  intensity,  but  in  the  fact  that,  as  Hume  puts  it,  "  the 
arrangement,"  or  the  relations,  of  the  ideas  are  different 
from  those  in  which  the  impressions,  whence  these  ideas 
are  derived,  occurred ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  the  thing 
imagined  has  not  happened.  In  popular  usage,  however, 
imagination  is  frequently  employed  for  simple  memory — 
"  In  imagination  I  was  back  in  the  old  times." 

It  is  a  curious  omission  on  Hume's  part  that,  while 
thus  dwelling  on  two  classes  of  ideas,  Memories  and  Tm- 
agi nations,  he  has  not,  at  the  same  time,  taken  notice  of 
G  5 


92  HUME.  [CHAP. 

a  third  group,  of  no  small  importance,  which  are  as  differ- 
ent from  imaginations  as  memories  are ;  though,  like  the 
latter,  they  are  often  confounded  with  pure  imaginations 
in  general  speech.  These  are  the  ideas  of  expectation,  or, 
as  they  may  be  called  for  the  sake  of  brevity,  Expecta- 
tions ;  which  differ  from  simple  imaginations  in  being  as- 
sociated with  the  idea  of  the  existence  of  corresponding 
impressions,  in  the  future,  just  as  memories  contain  the 
idea  of  the  existence  of  the  corresponding  impressions  in 
the  past. 

The  ideas  belonging  to  two  of  the  three  groups  enumer- 
ated :  namely,  memories  and  expectations,  present  some 
features  of  particular  interest.  And  first,  with  respect  to 
memories. 

In  Hume's  words,  all  simple  ideas  are  copies  of  simple 
impressions.  The  idea  of  a  single  sensation  is  a  faint,  but 
accurate,  image  of  that  sensation ;  the  idea  of  a  relation  is  a 
reproduction  of  the  feeling  of  co-existence,  of  succession,  or 
of  similarity.  But,  when  complex  impressions  or  complex 
ideas  are  reproduced  as  memories,  it  is  probable  that  the 
copies  never  give  all  the  details  of  the  originals  with  perfect 
accuracy,  and  it  is  certain  that  they  rarely  do  so.  No  one 
possesses  a  memory  so  good,  that  if  he  has  only  once  ob- 
served a  natural  object,  a  second  inspection  does  not  show 
him  something  that  he  has  forgotten.  Almost  all,  if  not 
all,  our  memories  are  therefore  sketches,  rather  than  por- 
traits, of  the  originals — the  salient  features  are  obvious, while 
the  subordinate  characters  are  obscure  or  unrepresented. 

Now,  when  several  complex  impressions  which  are  more 
or  less  different  from  one  another — let  us  say  that  out  of 
ten  impressions  in  each,  six  are  the  same  in  all,  and  four 
are  different  from  all  the  rest — are  successively  presented 
to  the  mind,  it  is  easy  to  see  what  must  be  the  nature  of 


IT.]         NOMENCLATURE  OF  MENTAL  OPERATIONS.  9S 

the  result.  The  repetition  of  the  six  similar  impressions 
will  strengthen  the  six  corresponding  elements  of  the  com- 
plex idea,  which  will  therefore  acquire  greater  vividness ; 
while  the  four  differing  impressions  of  each  will  not  only 
acquire  no  greater  strength  than  they  had  at  first,  but,  in 
accordance  with  the  law  of  association,  they  will  all  tend 
to  appear  at  once,  and  will  thus  neutralise  one  another. 

This  mental  operation  may  be  rendered  comprehensible 
by  considering  what  takes  place  in  the  formation  of  com- 
pound photographs — when  the  images  of  the  faces  of  six 
sitters,  for  example,  are  each  received  on  the  same  photo- 
graphic plate,  for  a  sixth  of  the  time  requisite  to  take  one 
portrait.  The  final  result  is  that  all  those  points  in  which 
the  six  faces  agree  are  brought  out  strongly,  while  all 
those  in  which  they  differ  are  left  vague ;  and  thus  what 
may  be  termed  a  generic  portrait  of  the  six,  in  contradis- 
tinction to  a  specific  portrait  of  any  one,  is  produced. 

Thus  our  ideas  of  single  complex  impressions  are  in- 
complete in  one  way,  and  those  of  numerous,  more  or  less 
similar,  complex  impressions  are  incomplete  in  another 
way ;  that  is  to  say,  they  are  generic,  not  specific.  And 
hence  it  follows  that  our  ideas  of  the  impressions  in  ques- 
tion are  not,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  copies  of 
those  impressions ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  they  may  ex- 
ist in  the  mind  independently  of  language. 

The  generic  ideas  which  are  formed  from  several  simi- 
lar, but  not  identical,  complex  experiences  are  what  are 
commonly  called  abstract  or  general  ideas ;  and  Berkeley 
endeavoured  to  prove  that  all  general  ideas  are  nothing  but 
particular  ideas  annexed  to  a  certain  term,  which  gives 
them  a  more  extensive  signification,  and  makes  them  recall, 
upon  occasion,  other  individuals  which  are  similar  to  them. 
Hume  says  that  he  regards  this  as  "  one  of  the  greatest 


94  HUME.  [CHAP. 

and  the  most  valuable  discoveries  that  has  been  made  of 
late  years  in  the  republic  of  letters,"  an(i  endeavours  to 
confirm  it  in  such  a  manner  that  it  shall  be  "  put  beyond 
all  doubt  and  controversy." 

I  may  venture  to  express  a  doubt  whether  he  has  suc- 
ceeded in  his  object ;  but  the  subject  is  an  abstruse  one ; 
and  I  must  content  myself  with  the  remark,  that  though 
Berkeley's  view  appears  to  be  largely  applicable  to  such 
general  ideas  as  are  formed  after  language  has  been  ac- 
quired, and  to  all  the  more  abstract  sort  of  conceptions, 
yet  that  general  ideas  of  sensible  objects  may  nevertheless 
be  produced  in  the  way  indicated,  and  may  exist  inde- 
pendently of  language.  In  dreams,  one  sees  houses,  trees, 
and  other  objects,  which  are  perfectly  recognisable  as 
such,  but  which  remind  one  of  the  actual  objects  as  seen 
"  out  of  the  corner  of  the  eye,"  or  of  the  pictures  thrown 
by  a  badly-focussed  magic  lantern.  A  man  addresses  us 
who  is  like  a  figure  seen  by  twilight ;  or  we  travel  through 
countries  where  every  feature  of  the  scenery  is  vague; 
the  outlines  of  the  hills  are  ill-marked,  and  the  rivers  have 
no  defined  banks.  They  are,  in  short,  generic  ideas  of 
many  past  impressions  of  men,  hills,  and  rivers.  An  anat- 
omist who  occupies  himself  intently  with  the  examination 
of  several  specimens  of  some  new  kind  of  animal,  in 
course  of  time  acquires  so  vivid  a  conception  of  its  form 
end  structure,  that  the  idea  may  take  visible  shape  and  be- 
come a  sort  of  waking  dream.  But  the  figure  which  thus 
presents  itself  is  generic,  not  specific.  It  is  no  copy  of 
any  one  specimen,  but,  more  or  less,  a  mean  of  the  series ; 
and  there  seems  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  minds  of 
children  before  they  learn  to  speak,  and  of  deaf-mutes, 
are  peopled  with  similarly  generated  generic  ideas  of  sensi- 
ble objects. 


IT.]         NOMENCLATURE  OF  MENTAL  OPERATIONS.  95 

It  has  been  seen  that  a  memory  is  a  complex  idea 
made  up  of  at  least  two  constituents.  In  the  first  place, 
there  is  the  idea  of  an  object ;  and,  secondly,  there  is  the 
idea  of  the  relation  of  antecedence  between  that  object 
and  some  present  objects. 

To  say  that  one  has  a  recollection  of  a  given  event  and 
to  express  the  belief  that  it  happened,  are  two  ways  of 
giving  an  account  of  one  and  the  same  mental  fact.  But 
the  former  mode  of  stating  the  fact  of  memory  is  prefer- 
able, at  present,  because  it  certainly  does  not  presuppose 
the  existence  of  language  in  the  mind  of  the  rememberer  ; 
while  it  may  be  said  that  the  latter  does.  It  is  perfectly 
possible  to  have  the  idea  of  an  event  A,  and  of  the  events 
B,  C,  D,  which  came  between  it  and  the  present  state  E, 
as  mere  mental  pictures.  It  is  hardly  to  be  doubted  that 
children  have  very  distinct  memories  long  before  they  can 
speak ;  and  we  believe  that  such  is  the  case  because  they 
act  upon  their  memories.  But,  if  they  act  upon  their 
memories,  they  to  all  intents  and  purposes  believe  their 
memories.  In  other  words,  though,  being  devoid  of  lan- 
guage, the  child  cannot  frame  a  proposition  expressive  of 
belief ;  cannot  say  "  sugar-plum  was  sweet ;"  yet  the  psy- 
chical operation  of  which  that  proposition  is  merely  the 
verbal  expression  is  perfectly  effected.  The  experience 
of  the  co-existence  of  sweetness  with  sugar  has  produced 
a  state  of  mind  which  bears  the  same  relation  to  a  verbal 
proposition  as  the  natural  disposition  to  produce  a  given 
idea,  assumed  to  exist  by  Descartes  as  an  "  innate  idea " 
would  bear  to  that  idea  put  into  words. 

The  fact  that  the  beliefs  of  memory  precede  the  use  of 
language,  and  therefore  are  originally  purely  instinctive, 
and  independent  of  any  rational  justification,  should  have 
been  of  great  importance  to  Hume,  from  its  bearing  upon 


»6  HITME.  [CHAP. 

his  theory  of  causation ;  and  it  is  curious  that  he  has  not 
adverted  to  it,  but  always  takes  the  trustworthiness  of 
memories  for  granted.  It  may  be  worth  while  briefly  to 
make  good  the  omission. 

That  I  was  in  pain,  yesterday,  is  as  certain  to  me  as  any 
matter  of  fact  can  be ;  by  no  effort  of  the  imagination  is 
it  possible  for  me  really  to  entertain  the  contrary  belief. 
At  the  same  time,  I  am  bound  to  admit  that  the  whole 
foundation  for  my  belief  is  the  fact  that  the  idea  of  pain 
is  indissolubly  associated  in  my  mind  with  the  idea  of 
that  much  past  time.  Any  one  who  will  be  at  the  trouble 
may  provide  himself  with  hundreds  of  examples  to  the 
same  effect. 

This  and  similar  observations  are  important  under  an- 
other aspect.  They  prove  that  the  idea  of  even  a  single 
strong  impression  may  be  so  powerfully  associated  with 
that  of  a  certain  time,  as  to  originate  a  belief  of  which  the 
contrary  is  inconceivable,  and  which  may  therefore  be 
properly  said  to  be  necessary.  A  single  weak,  or  moder- 
ately strong,  impression  may  not  be  represented  by  any 
memory.  But  this  defect  of  weak  experiences  may  be 
compensated  by  their  repetition ;  and  what  Hume  means 
by  "custom"  or  "habit"  is  simply  the  repetition  of  ex- 
periences— 

"  wherever  the  repetition  of  any  particular  act  or  operation 
produces  a  propensity  to  renew  the  same  act  or  operation, 
without  being  impelled  by  any  reasoning  or  process  of  the 
understanding,  we  always  say  that  this  propensity  is  the  ef- 
fect of  Custom.  By  employing  that  word,  we  pretend  not  to 
have  given  the  ultimate  reason  of  such  a  propensity.  We 
only  point  out  a  principle  of  human  nature  which  is  univer- 
sally acknowledged,  and  which  is  well  known  by  its  ef 
fects."— (IV.  p.  52.) 


rr.]         NOMENCLATURE  OF  MENTAL  OPERATIONS.  97 

It  has  been  shown  that  an  expectation  is  a  complex 
idea  which,  like  a  memory,  is  made  up  of  two  constitu- 
ents. The  one  is  the  idea  of  an  object,  the  other  is  the 
idea  of  a  relation  of  sequence  between  that  object  and 
some  present  object;  and  the  reasoning  which  applied  to 
memories  applies  to  expectations.  To  have  an  expecta- 
tion1 of  a  given  event,  and  to  believe  that  it  will  happen, 
are  only  two  modes  of  stating  the  same  fact.  Again,  just 
in  the  same  way  as  we  call  a  memory,  put  into  words,  a 
belief,  so  we  give  the  same  name  to  an  expectation  in  like 
clothing.  And  the  fact  already  cited,  that  a  child  before 
it  can  speak  acts  upon  its  memories,  is  good  evidence  that 
it  forms  expectations.  The  infant  who  knows  the  mean- 
ing neither  of  "  sugar-plum  "  nor  of  "  sweet,"  nevertheless 
is  in  full  possession  of  that  complex  idea,  which,  when  he 
has  learned  to  employ  language,  will  take  the  form  of  the 
verbal  proposition,  "  A  sugar-plum  will  be  sweet." 

Thus,  beliefs  of  expectation,  or  at  any  rate  their  poten- 
tialities, are,  as  much  as  those  of  memory,  antecedent  to 
speech,  and  are  as  incapable  of  justification  by  any  logical 
process.  In  fact,  expectations  are  but  memories  inverted. 
The  association  which  is  the  foundation  of  expectation 
must  exist  as  a  memory  before  it  can  play  its  part.  As 
Hume  says, — 

"...  it  is  certain  we  here  advance  a  very  intelligible  prop- 
osition at  least,  if  not  a  true  one,  when  we  assert  that  after 
the  constant  conjunction  of  two  objects,  heat  and  flame,  for 
instance,  weight  and  solidity,  we  are  determined  by  custom 


1  We  give  no  name  to  faint  memories ;  but  expectations  of  like 
character  play  so  large  a  part  in  human  affairs  that  they,  together 
with  the  associated  emotions  of  pleasure  and  pain,  are  distinguished 
as  "  hopes  "  or  "  fears." 
32 


98  HUME.  [CHAP. 

alone  to  expect  the  one  from  the  appearance  of  the  other. 
This  hypothesis  seems  even  the  only  one  which  explains  the 
difficulty  why  we  draw  from  a  thousand  instances,  an  infer- 
ence which  we  are  not  able  to  draw  from  one  instance,  that 
is  in  no  respect  different  from  them."  . . . 

"  Custom,  then,  is  the  great  guide  of  human  life.  It  is  that 
principle  alone  which  renders  our  experience  useful  to  us, 
and  makes  us  expect,  for  the  future,  a  similar  train  of  events 
with  those  which  have  appeared  in  the  past."  . . . 

"All  belief  of  matter-of-fact  or  real  existence  is  derived 
merely  from  some  object  present  to  the  memory  or  senses, 
and  a  customary  conjunction  between  that  and  some  other 
object ;  or,  in  other  words,  having  found,  in  many  instances, 
that  any  two  kinds  of  objects,  flame  and  heat,  snow  and  cold, 
have  always  been  conjoined  together :  if  flame  or  snow  be 
presented  anew  to  the  senses,  the  mind  is  carried  by  custom 
to  expect  heat  or  cold,  and  to  believe  that  such  a  quality  does 
exist,  and  will  discover  itself  upon  a  nearer  approach.  This 
belief  is  the  necessary  result  of  placing  the  mind  in  such  cir- 
cumstances. It  is  an  operation  of  the  soul,  when  we  are  so 
situated,  as  unavoidable  as  to  feel  the  passion  of  love  when 
we  receive  benefits,  or  hatred  when  we  meet  with  injuries. 
All  these  operations  are  a  species  of  natural  instincts,  which 
no  reasoning  or  process  of  the  thought  and  understanding 
is  able  either  to  produce  or  to  prevent." — (IV.  pp.  52 — 56.) 

The  only  comment  that  appears  needful  here  is,  that 
Hume  has  attached  somewhat  too  exclusive  a  weight  to 
that  repetition  of  experiences  to  which  alone  the  term 
"custom"  can  be  properly  applied.  The  proverb  says 
that  "a  burnt  child  dreads  the  fire;"  and  any  one  who 
will  make  the  experiment  will  find  that  one  burning  is 
quite  sufficient  to  establish  an  indissoluble  belief  that  con- 
tact with  fire  and  pain  go  together. 

As  a  sort  of  inverted  memory,  expectation  follows  the 
same  laws ;  hence,  while  a  belief  of  expectation  is,  in  most 


IT.]         NOMENCLATURE  OF  MENTAL  OPERATIONS.  W 

cases,  as  Hume  truly  says,  established  by  custom,  or  the 
repetition  of  weak  impressions,  it  may  quite  well  be  based 
upon  a  single  strong  experience.  In  the  absence  of  lan- 
guage, a  specific  memory  cannot  be  strengthened  by  repe- 
tition. It  is  obvious  that  that  which  nas  happened  cannot 
happen  again,  with  the  same  collateral  associations  of  co- 
existence and  succession.  But  memories  of  the  co-exist- 
ence and  succession  of  impressions  are  capable  of  being 
indefinitely  strengthened  by  the  recurrence  of  similar  im- 
pressions, in  the  same  order,  even  though  the  collateral  as- 
sociations are  totally  different ;  in  fact,  the  ideas  of  these 
impressions  become  generic. 

If  I  recollect  that  a  piece  of  ice  was  cold  yesterday, 
nothing  can  strengthen  the  recollection  of  that  particular 
fact ;  on  the  contrary,  it  may  grow  weaker,  in  the  absence 
of  any  record  of  it.  But  if  I  touch  ice  to-day  and  again 
find  it  cold,  the  association  is  repeated,  and  the  memory 
of  it  becomes  stronger.  And,  by  this  very  simple  process 
of  repetition  of  experience,  it  has  become  utterly  impossi- 
ble for  us  to  think  of  having  handled  ice  without  think- 
ing of  its  coldness.  But,  that  which  is,  under  the  one  as- 
pect, the  strengthening  of  a  memory,  is,  under  the  other, 
the  intensification  of  an  expectation.  Not  only  can  we 
not  think  of  having  touched  ice  without  feeling  cold,  but 
we  cannot  think  of  touching  ice  in  the  future  without  ex- 
pecting to  feel  cold.  An  expectation  so  strong  that  it 
cannot  be  changed,  or  abolished,  may  thus  be  generated 
out  of  repeated  experiences.  And  it  is  important  to  note 
that  such  expectations  may  be  formed  quite  unconscious- 
ly. In  my  dressing-room,  a  certain  can  is  usually  kept 
full  of  water,  and  I  am  in  the  habit  of  lifting  it  to  pour 
out  water  for  washing.  Sometimes  the  servant  has  for- 
gotten to  fill  it,  and  then  I  find  that,  when  I  take  hold  of 
5* 


100  HUME.  [CHAP,  iv 

the  handle,  the  can  goes  up  with  a  jerk.  Long  associa- 
tion has,  in  fact,  led  me  to  expect  the  can  to  have  a  con- 
siderable weight ;  and,  quite  unawares,  my  muscular  effort 
is  adjusted  to  the  expectation. 

The  process  of  strengthening  generic  memories  of  suc- 
cession, and,  at  the  same  time,  intensifying  expectations  of 
succession,  is  what  is  commonly  called  verification.  The 
impression  B  has  frequently  been  observed  to  follow  the 
impression  A.  The  association  thus  produced  is  repre- 
sented as  the  memory,  A  -^  B.  When  the  impression  A 
appears  again,  the  idea  of  B  follows,  associated  with  that 
of  the  immediate  appearance  of  the  impression  B.  If  the 
impression  B  does  appear,  the  expectation  is  said  to  be 
verified ;  while  the  memory  A  — >  B  is  strengthened,  and 
gives  rise  in  turn  to  a  stronger  expectation.  And  repeat- 
ed verification  may  render  that  expectation  so  strong  that 
its  non-verification  is  inconceivable. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MENTAL   PHENOMENA   OF  ANIMALS. 

IN  the  course  of  the  preceding  chapters  attention  has 
been  more  than  once  called  to  the  fact,  that  the  elements 
of  consciousness  and  the  operations  of  the  mental  facul- 
ties, under  discussion,  exist  independently  of,  and  antece- 
dent to,  the  existence  of  language. 

If  any  weight  is  to  be  attached  to  arguments  from 
analogy,  there  is  overwhelming  evidence  in  favour  of  the 
belief  that  children,  before  they  can  speak,  and  deaf-mutes, 
possess  the  feelings  to  which  those  who  have  acquired  the 
faculty  of  speech  apply  the  name  of  sensations ;  that  they 
have  the  feelings  of  relation;  that  trains  of  ideas  pass 
through  their  minds ;  that  generic  ideas  are  formed  from 
specific  ones;  and  that  among  these  ideas  of  memory 
and  expectation  occupy  a  most  important  place,  inasmuch 
as,  in  their  quality  of  potential  beliefs,  they  furnish  the 
grounds  of  action.  This  conclusion,  in  truth,  is  one  of 
those  which,  though  they  cannot  be  demonstrated,  are 
never  doubted ;  and,  since  it  is  highly  probable  and  can- 
not be  disproved,  we  are  quite  safe  in  accepting  it  as,  at 
any  rate,  a  good  working  hypothesis. 

But,  if  we  accept  it,  we  must  extend  it  to  a  much  wider 
assemblage  of  living  beings.  Whatever  cogency  is  at- 
tached to  the  arguments  in  favor  of  the  occurrence  of 


10*  HUME.  [CHAT. 

all  the  fundamental  phenomena  of  mind  in  young  children 
and  deaf-mutes,  an  equal  force  must  be  allowed  to  apper- 
tain to  those  which  may  be  adduced  to  prove  that  the 
higher  animals  have  minds.  We  must  admit  that  Hume 
does  not  express  himself  too  strongly  when  he  says — 

"  no  truth  appears  to  me  more  evident  than  that  the  beasts 
are  endowed  with  thought  and  reason  as  well  as  men.  The 
arguments  are  in  this  case  so  obvious,  that  they  never  escape 
the  most  stupid  and  ignorant." — (I.  p.  232.) 

In  fact,  this  is  one  of  the  few  cases  in  which  the  con- 
viction which  forces  itself  upon  the  stupid  and  the  igno- 
rant, is  fortified  by  the  reasonings  of  the  intelligent,  and 
has  its  foundation  deepened  by  every  increase  of  knowl- 
edge. It  is  not  merely  that  the  observation  of  the  actions 
of  animals  almost  irresistibly  suggests  the  attribution  to 
them  of  mental  states,  such  as  those  which  accompany 
corresponding  actions  in  men.  The  minute  comparison 
which  has  been  instituted  by  anatomists  and  physiologists 
between  the  organs  which  we  know  to  constitute  the  ap- 
paratus of  thought  in  man,  and  the  corresponding  organs 
in  brutes,  has  demonstrated  the  existence  of  the  closest 
similarity  between  the  two,  not  only  in  structure,  as  far  as 
the  microscope  will  carry  us,  but  in  function,  as  far  as 
functions  are  determinable  by  experiment  There  is  no 
question  in  the  mind  of  any  one  acquainted  with  the  facts 
that,  so  far  as  observation  and  experiment  can  take  us, 
the  structure  and  the  functions  of  the  nervous  system  are 
fundamentally  the  same  in  an  ape,  or  in  a  dog,  and  in  a 
man.  And  the  suggestion  that  we  must  stop  at  the  exact 
point  at  which  direct  proof  fails  us;  and  refuse  to  believe 
that  the  similarity  which  extends  so  far  stretches  yet 
further,  is  no  better  than  a  quibble.  Robinson  Crusoe 


T.]  MENTAL  PHENOMENA  OF  ANIMALS.  MM, 

did  not  feel  bound  to  conclude,  from  the  single  human 
footprint  which  he  saw  in  the  sand,  that  the  maker  of  the 
impression  had  only  one  leg. 

Structure  for  structure,  down  to  the  minutest  micro- 
scopical details,  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  olfactory  organs, 
the  nerves,  the  spinal  cord,  the  brain  of  an  ape,  or  of  a 
dog,  correspond  with  the  same  organs  in  the  human  sub- 
ject. Cut  a  nerve,  and  the  evidence  of  paralysis,  or  of 
insensibility,  is  the  same  in  the  two  cases ;  apply  pressure 
to  the  brain,  or  administer  a  narcotic,  and  the  signs  of  in- 
telligence disappear  in  the  one  as  in  the  other.  Whatever 
reason  we  have  for  believing  that  the  changes  which  take 
place  in  the  normal  cerebral  substance  of  man  give  rise  to 
states  of  consciousness,  the  same  reason  exists  for  the  be- 
lief that  the  modes  of  motion  of  the  cerebral  substance  of 
an  ape,  or  of  a  dog,  produce  like  effects. 

A  dog  acts  as  if  he  had  all  the  different  kinds  of  im- 
pressions of  sensation  of  which  each  of  us  is  cognisant. 
Moreover,  he  governs  his  movements  exactly  as  if  he  had 
the  feelings  of  distance,  form,  succession,  likeness,  and  un- 
likeness,  with  which  we  are  familiar,  or  as  if  the  impres- 
sions of  relation  were  generated  in  his  mind  as  they  are 
in  our  own.  Sleeping  dogs  frequently  appear  to  dream. 
If  they  do,  it  must  be  admitted  that  ideation  goes  on  in 
them  while  they  are  asleep ;  and,  in  that  case,  there  is  no 
reason  to  doubt  that  they  are  conscious  of  trains  of  ideas 
in  their  waking  state.  Further,  that  dogs,  if  they  possess 
ideas  at  all,  have  memories  and  expectations,  and  those 
potential  beliefs  of  which  these  states  are  the  foundation, 
can  hardly  be  doubted  by  any  one  who  is  conversant  with 
their  ways.  Finally,  there  would  appear  to  be  no  valid 
argument  against  the  supposition  that  dogs  form  generic 
ideas  of  sensible  objects.  One  of  the  most  curious  pecu- 


104  HUME.  [COUP. 

liarities  of  the  dog  mind  is  its  inherent  snobbishness, 
shown  by  the  regard  paid  to  external  respectability.  The 
dog  who  barks  furiously  at  a  beggar  will  let  a  well-dressed 
man  pass  him  without  opposition.  Has  he  not  then  a 
u  generic  idea "  of  rags  and  dirt  associated  with  the  idea 
of  aversion,  and  that  of  sleek  broadcloth  associated  with 
the  idea  of  liking  ? 

In  short,  it  seems  hard  to  assign  any  good  reason  for 
denying  to  the  higher  animals  any  mental  state,  or  process, 
in  which  the  employment  of  the  vocal  or  visual  symbols 
of  which  language  is  composed  is  not  involved ;  and  com- 
parative psychology  confirms  the  position  in  relation  to 
the  rest  of  the  animal  world  assigned  to  man  by  compara- 
tive anatomy.  As  comparative  anatomy  is  easily  able  to 
show  that,  physically,  man  is  but  the  last  term  of  a  long 
series  of  forms,  which  lead,  by  slow  gradations,  from  the 
highest  mammal  to  the  almost  formless  speck  of  living 
protoplasm,  which  lies  on  the  shadowy  boundary  between 
animal  and  vegetable  life;  so,  comparative  psychology, 
though  but  a  young  science,  and  far  short  of  her  elder 
sister's  growth,  points  to  the  same  conclusion. 

In  the  absence  of  a  distinct  nervous  system,  we  have 
no  right  to  look  for  its  product,  consciousness ;  and,  even 
in  those  forms  of  animal  life  in  which  the  nervous  ap- 
paratus has  reached  no  higher  degree  of  development 
than  that  exhibited  by  the  system  of  the  spinal  cord  and 
the  foundation  of  the  brain  in  ourselves,  the  argument 
from  analogy  leaves  the  assumption  of  the  existence  of 
any  form  of  consciousness  unsupported.  With  the  super- 
addition  of  a  nervous  apparatus  corresponding  with  the 
cerebrum  in  ourselves,  it  is  allowable  to  suppose  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  simplest  states  of  consciousness,  or  the 
sensations;  and  it  is  conceivable  that  these  may  at  first 


v.]  MENTAL  PHENOMENA  OF  ANIMALS.  106 

exist,  without  any  power  of  reproducing  them,  as  memo- 
ries; and,  consequently,  without  ideation.  Still  higher, 
an  apparatus  of  correlation  may  be  superadded,  until,  as 
all  these  organs  become  more  developed,  the  condition  of 
the  highest  speechless  animals  is  attained. 

It  is  a  remarkable  example  of  Hume's  sagacity  that  he 
perceived  the  importance  of  a  branch  of  science  which, 
even  now,  can  hardly  be  said  to  exist;  and  that,  in  a  re- 
markable passage,  he  sketches  in  bold  outlines  the  chief 
features  of  comparative  psychology. 

"...  any  theory,  by  which  we  explain  the  operations  of 
the  understanding,  or  the  origin  and  connexion  of  the  pas- 
sions in  man,  will  acquire  additional  authority  if  we  find 
that  the  same  theory  is  requisite  to  explain  the  same  phe- 
nomena in  all  other  animals.  We  shall  make  trial  of  this 
with  regard  to  the  hypothesis  by  which  we  have,  in  the  fore- 
going discourse,  endeavoured  to  account  for  all  experimen- 
tal reasonings;  and  it  is  hoped  that  this  new  point  of  view 
will  serve  to  confirm  all  our  former  observations. 

"First,  it  seems  evident  that  animals,  as  well  as  men,  learn 
many  things  from  experience,  and  infer  that  the  same  events 
will  always  follow  from  the  same  causes.  By  this  principle 
they  become  acquainted  with  the  more  obvious  properties 
of  external  objects,  and  gradually,  from  their  birth,  treasure 
up  a  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  fire,  water,  earth,  stones, 
heights,  depths,  &c.,  and  of  the  effects  which  result  from  their 
operation.  The  ignorance  and  inexperience  of  the  young  are 
here  plainly  distinguishable  from  the  cunning  and  sagacity 
of  the  old,  who  have  learned,  by  long  observation,  to  avoid 
what  hurt  them,  and  pursue  what  gave  ease  or  pleasure.  A 
horse  that  has  been  accustomed  to  the  field  becomes  ac- 
quainted with  the  proper  height  which  he  can  leap,  and  will 
never  attempt  what  exceeds  his  force  and  ability.  An  old 
greyhound  will  trust  the  more  fatiguing  part  of  the  chase 


106  HUME.  [CHAP. 

to  the  younger,  and  will  place  himself  so  as  to  meet  the  hare 
in  her  doubles ;  nor  are  the  conjectures  which  he  forms  on 
this  occasion  founded  on  anything  but  his  observation  and 
experience. 

"  This  is  still  more  evident  from  the  effects  of  discipline 
and  education  on  animals,  who,  by  the  proper  application  of 
rewards  and  punishments,  may  be  taught  any  course  of  ac- 
tion, the  most  contrary  to  their  natural  instincts  and  propen- 
sities. Is  it  not  experience  which  renders  a  dog  apprehen- 
sive of  pain  when  you  menace  him  or  lift  up  the  whip  to 
beat  him  ?  Is  it  not  even  experience  which  makes  him  an- 
swer to  his  name,  and  infer  from  such  an  arbitrary  sound 
that  you  mean  him  rather  than  any  of  his  fellows,  and  in- 
tend to  call  him,  when  you  pronounce  it  in  a  certain  manner 
and  with  a  certain  tone  and  accent  ? 

"  In  all  these  cases  we  may  observe  that  the  animal  infers 
some  fact  beyond  what  immediately  strikes  his  senses ;  and 
that  this  inference  is  altogether  founded  on  past  experience, 
while  the  creature  expects  from  the  present  object  the  same 
consequences  which  it  has  always  found  in  its  observation  to 
result  from  similar  objects. 

"  Secondly,  it  is  impossible  that  this  inference  of  the  animal 
can  be  founded  on  any  process  of  argument  or  reasoning,  by 
which  he  concludes  that  like  events  must  follow  like  ob- 
jects, and  that  the  course  of  nature  will  always  be  regular  in 
its  operations.  For  if  there  be  in  reality  any  arguments  of 
this  nature,  they  surely  lie  too  abstruse  for  the  observation 
of  such  imperfect  understandings ;  since  it  may  well  employ 
the  utmost  care  and  attention  of  a  philosophic  genius  to  dis- 
cover and  observe  them.  Animals,  therefore,  are  not  guided 
in  these  inferences  by  reasoning ;  neither  are  children  ;  nei- 
ther are  the  generality  of  mankind  in  their  ordinary  actions 
and  conclusions ;  neither  are  philosophers  themselves,  who, 
in  all  the  active  parts  of  life,  are  in  the  main  the  same  as  the 
vulgar,  and  are  governed  by  the  same  maxims.  Nature  must 
have  provided  some  other  principle,  of  more  ready  and  more 


v.]  MENTAL  PHENOMENA  OF  ANIMALS.  107 

general  use  and  application ;  nor  can  an  operation  of  such 
immense  consequence  in  life  as  that  of  inferring  effects  from 
causes,  be  trusted  to  the  uncertain  process  of  reasoning  and 
argumentation.  Were  this  doubtful  with  regard  to  men,  it 
seems  to  admit  of  no  question  with  regard  to  the  brute  cre- 
ation; and  the  conclusion  being  once  firmly  established  in 
the  one,  we  have  a  strong  presumption,  from  all  the  rules  of 
analogy,  that  it  ought  to  be  universally  admitted,  without 
any  exception  or  reserve.  It  is  custom  alone  which  engages 
animals,  from  every  object  that  strikes  their  senses,  to  infer 
its  usual  attendant,  and  carries  their  imagination  from  the 
appearance  of  the  one  to  conceive  the  other,  in  that  particu- 
lar manner  which  we  denominate  belief.  No  other  explica- 
tion can  be  given  of  this  operation  in  all  the  higher  as  well 
as  lower  classes  of  sensitive  beings  which  fall  under  our  no- 
tice and  observation." — (IV.  pp.  122 — 4.) 

It  will  be  observed  that  Hume  appears  to  contrast  the 
"  inference  of  the  animal "  with  the  "  process  of  argument 
or  reasoning  in  man."  But  it  would  be  a  complete  mis- 
apprehension of  his  intention,  if  we  were  to  suppose  that 
he  thereby  means  to  imply  that  there  is  any  real  differ- 
ence between  the  two  processes.  The  "  inference  of  the 
animal "  is  a  potential  belief  of  expectation ;  the  process 
of  argument,  or  reasoning,  in  man  is  based  upon  potential 
beliefs  of  expectation,  which  are  formed  in  the  man  exact- 
ly in  the  same  way  as  in  the  animal.  But,  in  men  endow- 
ed with  speech,  the  mental  state  which  constitutes  the  po- 
tential belief  is  represented  by  a  verbal  proposition,  and 
thus  becomes  what  all  the  world  recognises  as  a  belief. 
The  fallacy  which  Hume  combats  is  that  the  proposition, 
or  verbal  representative  of  a  belief,  has  come  to  be  regard- 
ed as  a  reality,  instead  of  as  the  mere  symbol  which  it 
really  is;  and  that  reasoning,  or  logic,  which  deals  with 
nothing  but  propositions,  is  supposed  to  be  necessary  in 
H 


108  HUME.  [CHAP. 

order  to  validate  the  natural  fact  symbolised  by  those 
propositions.  It  is  a  fallacy  similar  to  that  of  supposing 
that  money  is  the  foundation  of  wealth,  whereas  it  is  only 
the  wholly  unessential  symbol  of  property. 

In  the  passage  which  immediately  follows  that  just 
quoted,  Hume  makes  admissions  which  might  be  turned 
to  serious  account  against  some  of  his  own  doctrines: 

"  But  though  animals  learn  many  parts  of  their  knowledge 
from  observation,  there  are  also  many  parts  of  it  which  they 
derive  from  the  original  hand  of  Nature,  which  much  exceed 
the  share  of  capacity  they  possess  on  ordinary  occasions,  and 
in  which  they  improve,  little  or  nothing,  by  the  longest  prac- 
tice and  experience.  These  we  denominate  INSTINCTS,  and 
are  so  apt  to  admire  as  something  very  extraordinary  and  in- 
explicable by  all  the  disquisitions  of  human  understanding. 
But  our  wonder  will  perhaps  cease  or  diminish  when  we  con- 
sider that  the  experimental  reasoning  itself,  which  we  pos- 
sess in  common  with  beasts,  and  on  which  the  whole  con- 
duct of  life  depends,  is  nothing  but  a  species  of  instinct  or 
mechanical  power,  that  acts  in  us  unknown  to  ourselves,  and 
in  its  chief  operations  is  not  directed  by  any  such  relations 
or  comparison  of  ideas  as  are  the  proper  objects  of  our  intel- 
lectual faculties. 

"  Though  the  instinct  be  different,  yet  still  it  is  an  instinct 
which  teaches  a  man  to  avoid  the  fire,  as  much  as  that  which 
teaches  a  bird,  with  such  exactness,  the  art  of  incubation 
and  the  whole  economy  and  order  of  its  nursery." — (TV.  pp. 
125, 126.) 

The  parallel  here  drawn  between  the  "  avoidance  of  a 
fire"  by  a  man  and  the  incubatory  instinct  of  a  bird  is 
inexact.  The  man  avoids  fire  when  he  has  had  experi- 
ence of  the  pain  produced  by  burning ;  but  the  bird  incu- 
bates the  first  time  it  lays  eggs,  and  therefore  before  it  ha« 
had  any  experience  of  incubation.  For  the  comparison  to 


v.]  MENTAL  PHENOMENA  OF  ANIMALS.  10« 

be  admissible,  it  would  be  necessary  that  a  man  should 
avoid  fire  the  first  time  he  saw  it,  which  is  notoriously  not 
the  case. 

The  term  "  instinct "  is  very  vague  and  ill-defined.  It 
is  commonly  employed  to  denote  any  action,  or  even  feel- 
ing, which  is  not  dictated  by  conscious  reasoning,  whether 
it  is,  or  is  not,  the  result  of  previous  experience.  It  is 
"instinct"  which  leads  a  chicken  just  hatched  to  pick  up 
a  grain  of  corn ;  parental  love  is  said  to  be  "  instinctive ;" 
the  drowning  man  who  catches  at  a  straw  does  it  "  in- 
stinctively ;"  and  the  hand  that  accidentally  touches  some- 
thing hot  is  drawn  back  by  "  instinct."  Thus  "  instinct " 
is  made  to  cover  everything  from  a  simple  reflex  move- 
ment, in  which  the  organ  of  consciousness  need  not  be  at 
all  implicated,  up  to  a  complex  combination  of  acts  di- 
rected towards  a  definite  end  and  accompanied  by  intense 
consciousness. 

But  this  loose  employment  of  the  term  "instinct"  real- 
ly accords  with  the  nature  of  the  thing ;  for  it  is  wholly 
impossible  to  draw  any  line  of  demarcation  between  reflex 
actions  and  instincts.  If  a  frog,  on  the  flank  of  which  a 
little  drop  of  acid  has  been  placed,  rubs  it  off  with  the 
foot  of  the  same  side ;  and,  if  that  foot  be  held,  performs 
the  same  operation,  at  the  cost  of  much  effort,  with  the 
other  foot,  it  certainly  displays  a  curious  instinct.  But  it 
is  no  less  true  that  the  whole  operation  is  a  reflex  opera- 
tion of  the  spinal  cord,  which  can  be  performed  quite  as 
well  when  the  brain  is  destroyed ;  and  between  which  and 
simple  reflex  actions  there  is  a  complete  series  of  grada- 
tions. In  like  manner,  when  an  infant  takes  the  breast, 
it  is  impossible  to  say  whether  the  action  should  be  rather 
termed  instinctive  or  reflex. 

"What  are  usually  called  the  instincts  of  animals  are, 


110  HUME.  [OHAP. 

however,  acts  of  such  a  nature  that,  if  they  were  per- 
formed by  men,  they  would  involve  the  generation  of  a 
series  of  ideas  and  of  inferences  from  them ;  and  it  is  a 
curious,  and  apparently  an  insoluble,  problem  whether  they 
are,  or  are  not,  accompanied  by  cerebral  changes  of  the 
same  nature  as  those  which  give  rise  to  ideas  and  infer- 
ences in  ourselves.  When  a  chicken  picks  up  a  grain,  for 
example,  are  there,  firstly,  certain  sensations,  accompanied 
by  the  feeling  of  relation  between  the  grain  and  its  own 
body ;  secondly,  a  desire  of  the  grain  ;  thirdly,  a  volition 
to  seize  it  ?  Or,  are  only  the  sensational  term,  of  the  series 
actually  represented  in  consciousness  ? 

The  latter  seems  the  more  probable  opinion,  though  it 
must  be  admitted  that  the  other  alternative  is  possible. 
But,  in  this  case,  the  series  of  mental  states  which  occurs 
is  such  as  would  be  represented  in  language  by  a  series  of 
propositions,  and  would  afford  proof  positive  of  the  ex- 
istence of  innate  ideas,  in  the  Cartesian  sense.  Indeed,  a 
metaphysical  fowl,  brooding  over  the  mental  operations  of 
his  fully-fledged  consciousness,  might  appeal  to  the  fact  as 
proof  that,  in  the  very  first  action  of  his  life,  he  assumed 
the  existence  of  the  Ego  and  the  non-Ego,  and  of  a  rela- 
tion between  the  two. 

In  all  seriousness,  if  the  existence  of  instincts  be  grant- 
ed, the  possibility  of  the  existence  of  innate  ideas,  in  the 
most  extended  sense  ever  imagined  by  Descartes,  must  also 
be  admitted.  In  fact,  Descartes,  as  we  have  seen,  illus- 
trates what  he  means  by  an  innate  idea,  by  the  analogy  of 
nereditary  diseases  or  hereditary  mental  peculiarities,  such 
as  generosity.  On  the  other  hand,  hereditary  mental  ten- 
dencies may  justly  be  termed  instincts ;  and  still  more  ap- 
propriately might  those  special  proclivities,  which  consti- 
tute what  we  call  genius,  come  into  the  same  category. 


T.]  MENTAL  PHENOMENA  OF  ANIMALS.  Ill 

The  child  who  is  impelled  to  draw  as  soon  as  it  can 
hold  a  pencil ;  the  Mozart  who  breaks  out  into  music  as 
early ;  the  boy  Bidder  who  worked  out  the  most  compli- 
cated sums  without  learning  arithmetic;  the  boy  Pascal 
who  evolved  Euclid  out  of  his  own  consciousness:  all 
these  may  be  said  to  have  been  impelled  by  instinct,  as 
much  as  are  the  beaver  and  the  bee.  And  the  man  of 
genius  is  distinct  in  kind  from  the  man  of  cleverness,  by 
reason  of  the  working  within  him  of  strong  innate  ten- 
dencies— which  cultivation  may  improve,  but  which  it  can 
no  more  create  than  horticulture  can  make  thistles  bear 
figs.  The  analogy  between  a  musical  instrument  and  the 
mind  holds  good  here  also.  Art  and  industry  may  get 
much  music,  of  a  sort,  out  of  a  penny  whistle ;  but,  when 
all  is  done,  it  has  no  chance  against  an  organ.  The  innate 
musical  potentialities  of  the  two  are  infinitely  different. 


CHAPTER  VL 

LANGUAGE — PROPOSITIONS    CONCERNING    NECESSARY 
TRUTHS. 

THOUGH  we  may  accept  Hume's  conclusion  that  speech- 
less animals  think,  believe,  and  reason ;  yet  it  must  be 
borne  in  mind  that  there  is  an  important  difference  be- 
tween the  signification  of  the  terms  when  applied  to  them 
and  when  applied  to  those  animals  which  possess  lan- 
guage. The  thoughts  of  the  former  are  trains  of  mere 
feelings ;  those  of  the  latter  are,  in  addition,  trams  of  the 
ideas  of  the  signs  which  represent  feelings,  and  which  are 
called  "  words." 

A  word,  in  fact,  is  a  spoken  or  written  sign,  the  idea  of 
which  is,  by  repetition,  so  closely  associated  with  the  idea 
of  the  simple  or  complex  feeling  which  it  represents,  that 
the  association  becomes  indissoluble.  No  Englishman,  for 
example,  can  think  of  the  word  "dog"  without  imme- 
diately having  the  idea  of  the  group  of  impressions  to 
which  that  name  is  given ;  and,  conversely,  the  group  of 
impressions  immediately  calls  up  the  idea  of  the  word 
"dog." 

The  association  of  words  with  impressions  and  ideas  is 
the  process  of  naming;  and  language  approaches  perfec- 
tion, in  proportion  as  the  shades  of  difference  between  va- 
rious ideas  and  impressions  are  represented  by  differences 
in  their  names. 


TL]  LANGUAGE.  113 

The  names  of  simple  impressions  and  ideas,  or  of 
groups  of  co-existent  or  successive  complex  impressions 
and  ideas,  considered  per  se,  are  substantives ;  as  redness, 
dog,  silver,  mouth;  while  the  names  of  impressions  or 
ideas  considered  as  parts  or  attributes  of  a  complex  whole, 
are  adjectives.  Thus  redness,  considered  as  part  of  the 
complex  idea  of  a  rose,  becomes  the  adjective  red ;  flesh- 
eater,  as  part  of  the  idea  of  a  dog,  is  represented  by  car- 
nivorous ;  whiteness,  as  part  of  the  idea  of  silver,  is  white ; 
and  so  on. 

The  linguistic  machinery  for  the  expression  of  belief  is 
called  predication;  and,  as  all  beliefs  express  ideas  of  rela- 
tion, we  may  say  that  the  sign  of  predication  is  the  verbal 
symbol  of  a  feeling  of  relation.  The  words  which  serve 
to  indicate  predication  are  verbs.  If  I  say  "  silver  "  and 
then  "  white,"  I  merely  utter  two  names ;  but  if  I  inter- 
pose between  them  the  verb  "  is,"  I  express  a  belief  in  the 
co-existence  of  the  feeling  of  whiteness  with  the  other  feel- 
ings which  constitute  the  totality  of  the  complex  idea  of 
silver ;  in  other  words,  I  predicate  "  whiteness  "  of  silver. 

In  such  a  case  as  this,  the  verb  expresses  predication 
and  nothing  else,  and  is  called  a  copula.  But,  in  the 
great  majority  of  verbs,  the  word  is  the  sign  of  a  complex 
idea,  and  the  predication  is  expressed  only  by  its  form. 
Thus  in  "  silver  shines,"  the  verb  "  to  shine "  is  the  sign 
for  the  feeling  of  brightness,  and  the  mark  of  predication 
lies  in  the  form  "  shine-s." 

Another  result  is  brought  about  by  the  forms  of  verbs. 
By  slight  modifications  they  are  made  to  indicate  that  a 
belief,  or  predication,  is  a  memory,  or  is  an  expectation. 
Thus  "  silver  shone "  expresses  a  memory ;  "  silver  will 
shine"  an  expectation. 

The  form  of  words  which  expresses  a  predication  is  a 


114  HUME.  [CHAT. 

proposition.  Hence,  every  predication  is  the  verbal  equiv- 
alent of  a  belief ;  and  as  every  belief  is  either  an  imme- 
diate consciousness,  a  memory,  or  an  expectation,  and  as 
every  expectation  is  traceable  to  a  memory,  it  follows  that, 
in  the  long  run,  all  propositions  express  either  immediate 
states  of  consciousness  or  memories.  The  proposition 
which  predicates  A  of  X  must  mean  either,  that  the  fact 
is  testified  by  my  present  consciousness,  as  when  I  say  that 
two  colours,  visible  at  this  moment,  resemble  one  another ; 
or  that  A  is  indissolubly  associated  with  X  in  memory ; 
or  that  A  is  indissolubly  associated  with  X  in  expectation. 
But  it  has  already  been  shown  that  expectation  is  only  an 
expression  of  memory. 

Hume  does  not  discuss  the  nature  of  language,  but  so 
much  of  what  remains  to  be  said,  concerning  his  philo- 
sophical tenets,  turns  upon  the  value  and  the  origin  of 
verbal  propositions,  that  this  summary  sketch  of  the  rela- 
tions of  language  to  the  thinking  process  will  probably 
not  be  deemed  superfluous. 

So  large  an  extent  of  the  field  of  thought  is  traversed 
by  Hume,  in  his  discussion  of  the  verbal  propositions  in 
which  mankind  enshrine  their  beliefs,  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  follow  him  throughout  all  the  windings  of 
his  long  journey  within  the  limits  of  this  essay.  I  pur- 
pose, therefore,  to  limit  myself  to  those  propositions  which 
concern — 1.  Necessary  Truths;  2.  The  order  of  Nature; 
3.  The  Soul ;  4.  Theism ;  5.  The  Passions  and  Volition  ; 
6.  The  Principle  of  Morals. 

Hume's  views  respecting  necessary  truths,  and  more 
particularly  concerning  causation,  have,  more  than  any 
other  part  of  his  teaching,  contributed  to  give  him  a 
prominent  place  in  the  history  of  philosophy. 


vi.]  NECESSARY  TRUTHS.  115 

"  All  the  objects  of  human  reason  and  inquiry  may  natu- 
rally be  divided  into  two  kinds,  to  wit,  relations  of  ideas  and 
matters  of  fact.  Of  the  first  kind  are  the  sciences  of  geome- 
try, algebra,  and  arithmetic,  and,  in  short,  every  affirmation 
which  is  either  intuitively  or  demonstratively  certain.  That 
the  square  of  the  hypotheneu&e  is  equal  to  the  square  of  the  two 
sides,  is  a  proposition  which  expresses  a  relation  between 
these  two  figures.  That  three  times  five  is  equal  to  the  half  of 
thirty,  expresses  a  relation  between  these  numbers.  Propo- 
sitions of  this  kind  are  discoverable  by  the  mere  operation 
of  thought  without  dependence  on  whatever  is  anywhere  ex- 
istent in  the  universe.  Though  there  never  were  a  circle  or 
a  triangle  in  nature,  the  truths  demonstrated  by  Euclid  would 
for  ever  retain  their  certainty  and  evidence. 

"  Matters  of  fact,  which  are  the  second  objects  of  human 
reason,  are  not  ascertained  in  the  same  manner,  nor  is  an 
evidence  of  their  truth,  however  great,  of  a  like  nature  with 
the  foregoing.  The  contrary  of  every  matter  of  fact  is  still 
possible,  because  it  can  never  imply  a  contradiction,  and  is 
conceived  by  the  mind  with  the  same  facility  and  distinct- 
ness as  if  ever  so  conformable  to  reality.  That  the  sun  will 
not  rise  to-morrow,  is  no  less  intelligible  a  proposition,  and 
implies  no  more  contradiction,  than  the  affirmation  that  it 
will  rise.  We  should  in  vain,  therefore,  attempt  to  demon- 
strate its  falsehood.  Were  it  demonstratively  false,  it  would 
imply  a  contradiction,  and  could  never  be  distinctly  con- 
ceived by  the  mind."— (IV.,  pp.  32,  33.) 

The  distinction  here  drawn  between  the  truths  of  ge- 
ometry and  other  kinds  of  truth  is  far  less  sharply  indi- 
cated in  the  Treatise,  but  as  Hume  expressly  disowns  any 
opinions  on  these  matters  but  such  as  are  expressed  in  the 
Inquiry,  we  may  confine  ourselves  to  the  latter ;  and  it  is 
needful  to  look  narrowly  into  the  propositions  here  laid 
down,  as  much  stress  has  been  laid  upon  Hume's  admis- 
sion that  the  truths  of  mathematics  are  intuitively  and 
6 


116  HUME.  [CHAP. 

i 

demonstratively  certain;  in  other  words,  that  they  are 
necessary  and,  in  that  respect,  differ  from  all  other  kinds 
of  belief. 

What  is  meant  by  the  assertion  that  "  propositions  of 
this  kind  are  discoverable  by  the  mere  operation  of  thought 
without  dependence  on  what  is  anywhere  existent  in  the 
universe  ?" 

Suppose  that  there  were  no  such  things  as  impressions 
of  sight  and  touch  anywhere  in  the  universe,  what  idea 
could  we  have  even  of  a  straight  line,  much  less  of  a  tri- 
angle and  of  the  relations  between  its  sides  ?  The  funda- 
mental proposition  of  all  Hume's  philosophy  is  that  ideas 
are  copied  from  impressions ;  and,  therefore,  if  there  were 
no  impressions  of  straight  lines  and  triangles,  there  could 
be  no  ideas  of  straight  lines  and  triangles.  But  what  we 
mean  by  the  universe  is  the  sum  of  our  actual  and  possible 
impressions. 

So,  again,  whether  our  conception  of  number  is  derived 
from  relations  of  impressions  in  space  or  in  time,  the  im- 
pressions must  exist  in  nature,  that  is,  is  in  experience, 
before  their  relations  can  be  perceived.  Form  and  number 
are  mere  names  for  certain  relations  between  matters  of 
fact ;  unless  a  man  had  seen  or  felt  the  difference  between 
a  straight  line  and  a  crooked  one,  straight  and  crooked 
would  have  no  more  meaning  to  him  than  red  and  blue  to 
the  blind. 

The  axiom,  that  things  which  are  equal  to  the  same  are 
equal  to  one  another,  is  only  a  particular  case  of  the  pred- 
ication of  similarity ;  if  there  were  no  impressions,  it  is 
obvious  that  there  could  be  no  predicates.  But  what  is 
an  existence  in  the  universe  but  an  impression  ? 

If  what  are  called  necessary  truths  are  rigidly  analysed, 
they  will  be  found  to  be  of  two  kinds.  Either  they  de- 


TL]  NECESSARY    TRUTHS.  117 

pend  on  the  convention  which  underlies  the  possibility  of 
intelligible  speech,  that  terms  shall  always  have  the  same 
meaning ;  or  they  are  propositions  the  negation  of  which 
implies  the  dissolution  of  some  association  in  memory  or 
expectation,  which  is  in  fact  indissoluble ;  or  the  denial  of 
some  fact  of  immediate  consciousness. 

The  "necessary  truth"  A=A  means  that  the  percep- 
tion which  is  called  A  shall  always  be  called  A.  The 
"  necessary  truth  "  that  "  two  straight  lines  cannot  inclose 
a  space,"  means  that  we  have  no  memory,  and  can  form 
no  expectation  of  their  so  doing.  The  denial  of  the 
"  necessary  truth  "  that  the  thought  now  in  my  mind  ex- 
ists, involves  the  denial  of  consciousness. 

To  the  assertion  that  the  evidence  of  matter  of  fact 
is  not  so  strong  as  that  of  relations  of  ideas,  it  may  be 
justly  replied  that  a  great  number  of  matters  of  fact  are 
nothing  but  relations  of  ideas.  If  I  say  that  red  is  unlike 
blue,  I  make  an  assertion  concerning  a  relation  of  ideas ; 
but  it  is  also  matter  of  fact,  and  the  contrary  proposition 
is  inconceivable.  If  I  remember1  something  that  hap- 
pened five  minutes  ago,  that  is  matter  of  fact ;  and,  at 
the  same  time,  it  expresses  a  relation  between  the  event 
remembered  and  the  present  time.  It  is  wholly  incon- 
ceivable to  me  that  the  event  did  not  happen,  so  that  my 
assurance  respecting  it  is  as  strong  as  that  which  I  have 
respecting  any  other  necessary  truth.  In  fact,  the  man  is 
either  very  wise  or  very  virtuous,  or  very  lucky,  perhaps 
all  three,  who  has  gone  through  life  without  accumulating 
a  store  of  such  necessary  beliefs,  which  he  would  give  a 
good  deal  to  be  able  to  disbelieve. 

It  would  be  beside  the  mark  to  discuss  the  matter  fur- 

1  Hume,  however,  expressly  includes  the  "  records  of  our  memory  " 
among  his  matters  of  fact. — (IV.  p.  33.) 


118  HUME.  [CHAP. 

ther  on  the  present  occasion.  It  is  sufficient  to  point  out 
that,  whatever  may  be  the  difference  between  mathemat- 
ical and  other  truths,  they  do  not  justify  Hume's  state- 
ment. And  it  is,  at  any  rate,  impossible  to  prove  that 
the  cogency  of  mathematical  first  principles  is  due  to  any- 
thing more  than  these  circumstances ;  that  the  experiences 
with  which  they  are  concerned  are  among  the  first  which 
arise  in  the  mind ;  that  they  are  so  incessantly  repeated  as 
to  justify  us,  according  to  the  ordinary  laws  of  ideation, 
in  expecting  that  the  associations  which  they  form  will  be 
of  extreme  tenacity ;  while  the  fact,  that  the  expectations 
based  upon  them  are  always  verified,  finishes  the  process 
of  welding  them  together. 

Thus,  if  the  axioms  of  mathematics  are  innate,  nature 
would  seem  to  have  taken  unnecessary  trouble ;  since  the 
ordinary  process  of  association  appears  to  be  amply  suffi- 
cient to  confer  upon  them  all  the  universality  and  necessity 
which  they  actually  possess. 

Whatever  needless  admissions  Hume  may  have  made 
respecting  other  necessary  truths,  he  is  quite  clear  about 
the  axiom  of  causation,  "  That  whatever  event  has  a  be- 
ginning must  have  a  cause ;"  whether  and  in  what  sense 
it  is  a  necessary  truth ;  and,  that  question  being  decided, 
whence  it  is  derived. 

With  respect  to  the  first  question,  Hume  denies  that  it 
is  a  necessary  truth,  in  the  sense  that  we  are  unable  to 
conceive  the  contrary.  The  evidence  by  which  he  sup- 
ports this  conclusion  in  the  Inquiry,  however,  is  not  strict- 
ly relevant  to  the  issue. 

"  No  object  ever  discovers,  by  the  qualities  which  appear 
to  the  senses,  either  the  cause  which  produced  it,  or  the  ef- 
fects which  will  arise  from  it ;  nor  can  our  reason,  unassist- 


n.J  CAUSE  AND  EFFECT.  119 

ed  by  experience,  ever  draw  any  inference  concerning  real 
existence  and  matter  of  fact." — (IV.  p.  35.) 

Abundant  illustrations  are  given  of  this  assertion,  which, 
indeed,  cannot  be  seriously  doubted ;  but  it  does  not  fol- 
low that,  because  we  are  totally  unable  to  say  what  cause 
preceded,  or  what  effect  will  succeed,  any  event,  we  do 
not  necessarily  suppose  that  the  event  had  a  cause  and 
will  be  succeeded  by  an  effect.  The  scientific  investigator 
who  notes  a  new  phenomenon  may  be  utterly  ignorant 
of  its  cause,  but  he  will,  without  hesitation,  seek  for  that 
cause.  If  you  ask  him  why  he  does  so,  he  will  probably 
say  that  it  must  have  had  a  cause;  and  thereby  imply 
that  his  belief  in  causation  is  a  necessary  belief. 

In  the  Treatise  Hume,  indeed,  takes  the  bull  by  the 
horns : 

"...  as  all  distinct  ideas  are  separable  from  each  other, 
and  as  the  ideas  of  cause  and  effect  are  evidently  distinct, 
'twill  be  easy  for  us  to  conceive  any  object  to  be  non-existent 
this  moment  and  existent  the  next,  without  conjoining  to  it 
the  distinct  idea  of  a  cause  or  productive  principle." — (I.  p. 
111.) 

If  Hume  had  been  content  to  state  what  he  believes 
to  be  matter  of  fact,  and  had  abstained  from  giving  su- 
perfluous reasons  for  that  which  is  susceptible  of  being 
proved  or  disproved  only  by  personal  experience,  his  po- 
sition would  have  been  stronger.  For  it  seems  clear  that, 
on  the  ground  of  observation,  he  is  quite  right.  Any 
man  who  lets  his  fancy  run  riot  in  a  waking  dream  may 
experience  the  existence  at  one  moment,  and  the  non-ex- 
istence at  the  next,  of  phenomena  which  suggest  no  con- 
nexion of  cause  and  effect.  Not  only  so,  but  it  is  notori- 
ous that,  to  the  unthinking  mass  of  mankind,  nine-tenths 


120  HUME.  [CHAE 

of  the  facts  of  life  do  not  suggest  the  relation  of  cause 
and  effect ;  and  they  practically  deny  the  existence  of  any 
such  relation  by  attributing  them  to  chance.  Few  gam- 
blers but  would  stare  if  they  were  told  that  the  falling  of 
a  die  on  a  particular  face  is  as  much  the  effect  of  a  defi- 
nite cause  as  the  fact  of  its  falling ;  it  is  a  proverb  that 
"  the  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth ;"  and  even  thoughtful 
men  usually  receive  with  surprise  the  suggestion,  that  the 
form  of  the  crest  of  every  wave  that  breaks,  wind  driven, 
on  the  sea-shore,  and  the  direction  of  every  particle  of 
foam  that  flies  before  the  gale,  are  the  exact  effects  of  def- 
inite causes ;  and,  as  such,  must  be  capable  of  being  deter- 
mined, deductively,  from  the  laws  of  motion  and  the  prop- 
erties of  air  and  water.  So,  again,  there  are  large  num- 
bers of  highly  intelligent  persons  who  rather  pride  them- 
selves on  their  fixed  belief  that  our  volitions  have  no 
cause ;  or  that  the  will  causes  itself,  which  is  either  the 
same  thing,  or  a  contradiction  in  terms. 

Hume's  argument  in  support  of  what  appears  to  be  a 
true  proposition,  however,  is  of  the  circular  sort,  for  the 
major  premiss,  that  all  distinct  ideas  are  separable  in 
thought,  assumes  the  question  at  issue. 

But  the  question  whether  the  idea  of  causation  is  nec- 
essary or  not,  is  really  of  very  little  importance.  For,  to 
say  that  an  idea  is  necessary  is  simply  to  affirm  that  we 
cannot  conceive  the  contrary ;  and  the  fact  that  we  cannot 
conceive  the  contrary  of  any  belief  may  be  a  presumption, 
but  is  certainly  no  proof  of  its  truth. 

In  the  well-known  experiment  of  touching  a  single 
round  object,  such  as  a  marble,  with  crossed  fingers,  it 
is  utterly  impossible  to  conceive  that  we  have  not  two 
round  objects  under  them ;  and,  though  light  is  undoubt- 
edly a  mere  sensation  arising  in  the  brain,  it  is  utterly 


n.]  CAUSE  AND  EFFECT.  121 

impossible  to  conceive  that  it  is  not  outside  the  retina. 
In  the  same  way,  he  who  touches  anything  with  a  rod, 
not  only  is  irresistibly  led  to  believe  that  the  sensation  of 
contact  is  at  the  end  of  the  rod,  but  is  utterly  incapable 
of  conceiving  that  this  sensation  is  really  in  his  head. 
Yet  that  which  is  inconceivable  is  manifestly  true  in  all 
these  cases.  The  beliefs  and  the  unbeliefs  are  alike  nec- 
essary, and  alike  erroneous. 

It  is  commonly  urged  that  the  axiom  of  causation  can- 
not be  derived  from  experience,  because  experience  only 
proves  that  many  things  have  causes,  whereas  the  axi- 
om declares  that  all  things  have  causes.  The  syllogism, 
"  many  things  which  come  into  existence  have  causes,  A 
has  come  into  existence :  therefore  A  had  a  cause,"  is  ob- 
viously fallacious,  if  A  is  not  previously  shown  to  be  one 
of  the  "  many  things."  And  this  objection  is  perfectly 
sound  so  far  as  it  goes.  The  axiom  of  causation  cannot 
possibly  be  deduced  from  any  general  proposition  which 
simply  embodies  experience.  But  it  does  not  follow  that 
.the  belief,  or  expectation,  expressed  by  the  axiom,  is  not 
a  product  of  experience,  generated  antecedently  to,  and  al- 
together independently  of,  the  logically  unjustifiable  lan- 
guage in  which  we  express  it. 

In  fact,  the  axiom  of  causation  resembles  all  other  be- 
liefs of  expectation  in  being  the  verbal  symbol  of  a  purely 
automatic  act  of  the  mind,  which  is  altogether  extra-log- 
ical, and  would  be  illogical,  if  it  were  not  constantly  veri- 
fied by  experience.  Experience,  as  we  have  seen,  stores 
up  memories ;  memories  generate  expectations  or  beliefs 
— why  they  do  so  may  be  explained  hereafter  by  proper 
investigation  of  cerebral  physiology.  But,  to  seek  for  the 
reason  of  the  facts  in  the  verbal  symbols  by  which  they 
are  expressed,  and  to  be  astonished  that  it  is  not  to  be 


122  HUME.  [CHAP. 

found  there,  is  surely  singular ;  and  what  Hume  did  was 
to  turn  attention  from  the  verbal  proposition  to  the  psy- 
chical fact  of  which  it  is  the  symbol. 

"  When  any  natural  object  or  event  is  presented,  it  is  im- 
possible for  us,  by  any  sagacity  or  penetration,  to  discover,  or 
even  conjecture,  without  experience,  what  event  will  result 
from  it,  or  to  carry  our  foresight  beyond  that  object,  which 
is  immediately  present  to  the  memory  and  senses.  Even  af- 
ter one  instance  or  experiment,  where  we  have  observed  a 
particular  event  to  follow  upon  another,  we  are  not  entitled 
to  form  a  general  rule,  or  foretell  what  will  happen  in  like 
cases ;  it  being  justly  esteemed  an  unpardonable  temerity  to 
judge  of  the  whole  course  of  nature  from  one  single  experi- 
ment, however  accurate  or  certain.  But  when  one  particular 
species  of  events  has  always,  in  all  instances,  been  conjoined 
with  another,  we  make  no  longer  any  scruple  of  foretelling 
one  upon  the  appearance  of  the  other,  and  of  employing  that 
reasoning  which  can  alone  assure  us  of  any  matter  of  fact  or 
existence.  We  then  call  the  one  object  Cause,  the  other  Effect. 
We  suppose  that  there  is  some  connexion  between  them: 
some  power  in  the  one,  by  which  it  infallibly  produces  the 
other,  and  operates  with  the  greatest  certainty  and  strongest 
necessity.  .  .  .  But  there  is  nothing  in  a  number  of  instances, 
different  from  every  single  instance,  which  is  supposed  to  be 
exactly  similar ;  except  only,  that  after  a  repetition  of  simi- 
lar instances,  the  mind  is  carried  by  habit,  upon  the  appear- 
ance of  one  event,  to  expect  its  usual  attendant,  and  to  be- 
lieve that  it  will  exist.  .  .  .  The  first  time  a  man  saw  the 
communication  of  motion  by  impulse,  as  by  the  shock  of  two 
billiard  balls,  he  could  not  pronounce  that  the  one  event  was 
connected,  but  only  that  it  was  conjoined,  with  the  other.  Af- 
ter he  has  observed  several  instances  of  this  nature,  he  then 
pronounces  them  to  be  connected.  What  alteration  has  hap- 
pened to  give  rise  to  this  new  idea  of  connexion  !  Nothing 
but  that  he  now  feels  these  events  to  be  connected  in  his  im- 


vi]  THE  LOGIC  OF  CAUSATION.  123 

Agination,  and  can  readily  foresee  the  existence  of  the  one 
from  the  appearance  of  the  other.  When  we  Bay,  therefore, 
that  one  object  is  connected  with  another,  we  mean  only  that 
they  have  acquired  a  connexion  in  our  thought,  and  give  rise 
to  this  inference,  by  which  they  become  proofs  of  each  oth- 
er's existence:  a  conclusion  which  is  somewhat  extraordi- 
nary, but  which  seems  founded  on  sufficient  evidence." — (TV. 
pp.87— 89.) 

In  the  fifteenth  section  of  the  third  part  of  the  Treatise, 
under  the  head  of  the  Rules  by  which  to  Judge  of  Causes 
and  Effects,  Hume  gives  a  sketch  of  the  method  of  allo- 
cating effects  to  their  causes,  upon  which,  so  far  as  I  am 
aware,  no  improvement  was  made  down  to  the  time  of  the 
publication  of  Mill's  Logic.  Of  Mill's  four  methods,  that 
of  agreement  is  indicated  in  the  following  passage : — 

"...  where  several  different  objects  produce  the  same  ef- 
fect, it  must  be  by  means  of  some  quality  which  we  discover 
to  be  common  amongst  them.  For  as  like  effects  imply  like 
causes,  we  must  always  ascribe  the  causation  to  the  circum- 
stance wherein  we  discover  the  resemblance." — (I.  p.  229.) 

Next,  the  foundation  of  the  method  of  difference  is 
stated : — 

"  The  difference  in  the  effects  of  two  resembling  objects 
must  proceed  from  that  particular  in  which  they  differ. 
For,  as  like  causes  always  produce  like  effects,  when  in  any 
instance  we  find  our  expectation  to  be  disappointed,  we  must 
conclude  that  this  irregularity  proceeds  from  some  difference 
in  the  causes." — (I.  p.  230.) 

In  the  succeeding  paragraph  the  method  of  concomitant 
variations  is  foreshadowed. 

"When  any  object  increases  or  diminishes  with  the  in- 
crease or  diminution  of  the  cause,  'tis  to  be  regarded  as  a 
I       6* 


124  HUME. 

compounded  effect,  derived  from  the  union  of  the  several 
different  effects  which  arise  from  the  several  different  parts 
of  the  cause.  The  absence  or  presence  of  one  part  of  the 
cause  is  here  supposed  to  be  always  attended  with  the  ab- 
sence or  presence  of  a  proportionable  part  of  the  effect. 
This  constant  conjunction  sufficiently  proves  that  the  one 
part  is  the  cause  of  the  other.  We  must,  however,  beware 
not  to  draw  such  a  conclusion  from  a  few  experiments."— (L 
p.  230.) 

Lastly,  the  following  rule,  though  awkwardly  stated, 
contains  a  suggestion  of  the  method  of  residues : — 

"...  an  object  which  exists  for  any  time  in  its  full  perfec- 
tion without  any  effect,  is  not  the  sole  cause  of  that  effect, 
but  requires  to  be  assisted  by  some  other  principle,  which 
may  forward  its  influence  and  operation.  For  as  like  effects 
necessarily  follow  from  like  causes,  and  in  a  contiguous  time 
and  place,  their  separation  for  a  moment  shows  that  these 
causes  are  not  complete  ones." — (I.  p.  230.) 

In  addition  to  the  bare  notion  of  necessary  connexion 
between  the  cause  and  its  effect,  we  undoubtedly  find  in 
our  minds  the  idea  of  something  resident  in  the  cause 
which,  as  we  say,  produces  the  effect,  and  we  call  this 
something  Force,  Power,  or  Energy.  Hume  explains  Force 
and  Power  as  the  results  of  the  association  with  inanimate 
causes  of  the  feelings  of  endeavour  or  resistance  which  we 
experience,  when  our  bodies  give  rise  to,  or  resist,  motion. 

If  I  throw  a  ball,  I  have  a  sense  of  effort  which  ends 
when  the  ball  leaves  my  hand ;  and,  if  I  catch  a  ball,  I 
have  a  sense  of  resistance  which  comes  to  an  end  with 
the  quiescence  of  the  ball.  In  the  former  case,  there  is  a 
strong  suggestion  of  something  having  gone  from  myself 
into  the  ball ;  in  the  latter,  of  something  having  been  re- 
ceived from  the  ball.  Let  any  one  hold  a  piece  of  iron 


in.]  FORCE,  POWER  AND  ENERGY.  125 

near  a  strong  magnet,  and  the  feeling  that  the  magnet  en- 
deavours to  pull  the  iron  one  way  in  the  same  manner  as 
he  endeavours  to  pull  it  in  the  opposite  direction,  is  very 
strong. 
As  Hume  says : — 

"  No  animal  can  put  external  bodies  in  motion  without  the 
sentiment  of  a  nisus,  or  endeavour ;  and  every  animal  has  a 
sentiment  or  feeling  from  the  stroke  or  blow  of  an  external 
object  that  is  in  motion.  These  sensations,  which  are  merely 
animal,  and  from  which  we  can,  a  priori,  draw  no  inference, 
we  are  apt  to  transfer  to  inanimate  objects,  and  to  suppose 
that  they  have  some  such  feelings  whenever  they  transfer  or 
receive  motion." — (IV.  p.  91,  note.) 

It  is  obviously,  however,  an  absurdity  not  less  gross 
than  that  of  supposing  the  sensation  of  warmth  to  exist 
in  a  fire,  to  imagine  that  the  subjective  sensation  of  effort 
or  resistance  in  ourselves  can  be  present  in  external  ob- 
jects, when  they  stand  in  the  relation  of  causes  to  other 
objects. 

To  the  argument,  that  we  have  a  right  to  suppose  the 
relation  of  cause  and  effect  to  contain  something  more 
than  invariable  succession,  because,  when  we  ourselves  act 
as  causes,  or  in  volition,  we  are  conscious  of  exerting  pow- 
er ;  Hume  replies,  that  we  know  nothing  of  the  feeling 
we  call  power  except  as  effort  or  resistance ;  and  that  we 
have  not  the  slightest  means  of  knowing  whether  it  has 
anything  to  do  with  the  production  of  bodily  motion  or 
mental  changes.  And  he  points  out,  as  Descartes  and 
Spinoza  had  done  before  him,  that  when  voluntary  motion 
takes  place,  that  which  we  will  is  not  the  immediate  con- 
sequence of  the  act  of  volition,  but  something  which  is 
separated  from  it  by  a  long  chain  of  causes  and  effects. 
If  the  will  is  the  cause  of  the  movement  of  a  limb,  it  can 


12fl  HUME.  [CHAP.  vi. 

be  so  only  in  the  sense  that  the  guard  who  gives  the  order 
to  go  on,  is  the  cause  of  the  transport  of  a  train  from  one 
station  to  another. 

"We  learn  from  anatomy, that  the  immediate  object  of 
power  in  voluntary  motion  is  not  the  member  itself  which  is 
moved,  but  certain  muscles  and  nerves  and  animal  spirits, 
and  perhaps  something  still  more  minute  and  unknown, 
through  which  the  motion  is  successively  propagated,  ere  it 
reach  the  member  itself,  whose  motion  is  the  immediate  ob- 
ject of  volition.  Can  there  be  a  more  certain  proof  that  the 
power  by  which  the  whole  operation  is  performed,  so  far 
from  being  directly  and  fully  known  by  an  inward  sentiment 
or  consciousness,  is  to  the  last  degree  mysterious  and  unin- 
telligible? Here  the  mind  wills  a  certain  event:  Immedi- 
ately another  event,  unknown  to  ourselves,  and  totally  dif- 
ferent from  the  one  intended,  is  produced :  This  event  pro- 
duces another  equally  unknown :  Till  at  last,  through  a  long 
succession,  the  desired  event  is  produced." — (IV.  p.  78.) 

A  still  stronger  argument  against  ascribing  an  objective 
existence  to  force  or  power,  on  the  strength  of  our  sup- 
posed direct  intuition  of  power  in  voluntary  acts,  may  be 
urged  from  the  unquestionable  fact,  that  we  do  not  know, 
and  cannot  know,  that  volition  does  cause  corporeal  mo- 
tion ;  while  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  in  favour  of 
the  view  that  it  is  no  cause,  but  merely  a  concomitant  of 
that  motion.  But  the  nature  of  volition  will  be  more 
fitly  considered  hereafter. 


CHAPTER 

ORDER    OF   NATURE  '.    MIRACLES. 

IP  our  beliefs  of  expectation  are  based  on  our  beliefs  of 
memory,  and  anticipation  is  only  inverted  recollection,  it 
necessarily  follows  that  every  belief  of  expectation  implies 
the  belief  that  the  future  will  have  a  certain  resemblance 
to  the  past.  From  the  first  hour  of  experience,  onwards, 
this  belief  is  constantly  being  verified,  until  old  age  is  in- 
clined to  suspect  that  experience  has  nothing  new  to  offer. 
And  when  the  experience  of  generation  after  generation 
is  recorded,  and  a  single  book  tells  us  more  than  Methuse- 
lah could  have  learned,  had  he  spent  every  waking  hour 
of  his  thousand  years  in  learning;  when  apparent  disor- 
ders are  found  to  be  only  the  recurrent  pulses  of  a  slow 
working  order,  and  the  wonder  of  a  year  becomes  the 
commonplace  of  a  century ;  when  repeated  and  minute  ex- 
amination never  reveals  a  break  in  the  chain  of  causes  and 
effects;  and  the  whole  edifice  of  practical  life  is  built 
upon  our  faith  in  its  continuity ;  the  belief  that  that  chain 
has  never  been  broken  and  will  never  be  broken,  becomes 
one  of  the  strongest  and  most  justifiable  of  human  convic- 
tions. And  it  must  be  admitted  to  be  a  reasonable  re- 
quest, if  we  ask  those  who  would  have  us  put  faith  in  the 
actual  occurrence  of  interruptions  of  that  order,  to  pro- 


1*8  HUME.  [CHAP. 

duce  evidence  in  favour  of  their  view,  not  only  equal,  but 
superior,  in  weight  to  that  which  leads  us  to  adopt  ours. 

This  is  the  essential  argument  of  Hume's  famous  dis- 
quisition upon  miracles ;  and  it  may  safely  be  declared  to 
be  irrefragable.  But  it  must  be  admitted  that  Hume  has 
surrounded  the  kernel  of  his  essay  with  a  shell  of  very 
doubtful  value. 

The  first  step  in  this,  as  in  all  other  discussions,  is  to 
come  to  a  clear  understanding  as  to  the  meaning  of  the 
terms  employed.  Argumentation  whether  miracles  are 
possible,  and,  if  possible,  credible,  is  mere  beating  the  air 
until  the  arguers  have  agreed  what  they  mean  by  the  word 
"  miracles." 

Hume,  with  less  than  his  usual  perspicuity,  but  in  ac- 
cordance with  a  common  practice  of  believers  in  the  mi- 
raculous, defines  a  miracle  as  a  "  violation  of  the  laws  of 
nature,"  or  as  "a  transgression  of  a  law  of  nature  by  a 
particular  volition  of  the  Deity,  or  by  the  interposition  of 
some  invisible  agent." 

There  must,  he  says, — 

"  be  an  uniform  experience  against  every  miraculous  event, 
otherwise  the  event  would  not  merit  that  appellation.  And 
as  an  uniform  experience  amounts  to  a  proof,  there  is  here  a 
direct  and  full  proof,  from  the  nature  of  the  fact,  against  the 
existence  of  any  miracle ;  nor  can  such  a  proof  be  destroyed 
or  the  miracle  rendered  credible  but  by  an  opposite  proof 
which  is  superior." — (TV.  p.  134.) 

Every  one  of  these  dicta  appears  to  be  open  to  serious 
objection. 

The  word  "miracle"  —  miraculum — in  its  primitive 
and  legitimate  sense,  simply  means  something  wonderful. 

Cicero  applies  it  as  readily  to  the  fancies  of  philos- 
ophers, "  Portenta  et  miracula  philosophorum  somuian- 


TIL]  ORDER  OF  NATURE :   MIRACLES.  129 

tium,"  as  we  do  to  the  prodigies  of  priests.  And  the 
source  of  the  wonder  which  a  miracle  excites  is  the  belief, 
on  the  part  of  those  who  witness  it,  that  it  transcends  or 
contradicts  ordinary  experience. 

The  definition  of  a  miracle  as  a  "violation  of  the  laws 
of  nature"  is,  in  reality,  an  employment  of  language 
which,  on  the  face  of  the  matter,  cannot  be  justified.  For 
"  nature "  means  neither  more  nor  less  than  that  which 
is;  the  sum  of  phenomena  presented  to  our  experience; 
the  totality  of  events  past,  present,  and  to  come.  Every 
event  must  be  taken  to  be  a  part  of  nature,  until  proof  to 
the  contrary  is  supplied.  And  such  proof  is,  from  the 
nature  of  the  case,  impossible. 

Hume  asks : — 

"  Why  is  it  more  than  probable  that  all  men  must  die : 
that  lead  cannot  of  itself  remain  suspended  in  the  air :  that 
fire  consumes  wood  and  is  extinguished  by  water ;  unless  it 
be  that  these  events  are  found  agreeable  to  the  laws  of  nat- 
ure, and  there  is  required  a  violation  of  those  laws,  or,  in 
other  words,  a  miracle,  to  prevent  them  ?" — (IV.  p.  133.) 

But  the  reply  is  obvious;  not  one  of  these  events  is 
"  more  than  probable ;"  though  the  probability  may  reach 
such  a  very  high  degree  that,  in  ordinary  language,  we 
are  justified  in  saying  that  the  opposite  events  are  impos- 
sible. Calling  our  often  verified  experience  a  "  law  of 
nature"  adds  nothing  to  its  value,  nor  in  the  slightest 
degree  increases  any  probability  that  it  will  be  verified 
again,  which  may  arise  out  of  the  fact  of  its  frequent 
verification. 

If  a  piece  of  lead  were  to  remain  suspended  of  itself  in 
the  air,  the  occurrence  would  be  a  "  miracle,"  in  the  sense 
of  a  wonderful  event,  indeed ;  but  no  one  trained  in  the 
34 


130  HUME.  [CHAP. 

methods  of  science  would  imagine  that  any  law  of  natnre 
was  really  violated  thereby.  He  would  simply  set  to 
work  to  investigate  the  conditions  under  which  so  highly 
unexpected  an  occurrence  took  place,  and  thereby  enlarge 
his  experience  and  modify  his  hitherto  unduly  narrow  con- 
ception of  the  laws  of  nature. 

The  alternative  definition,  that  a  miracle  is  "  a  trans- 
gression of  a  law  of  nature  by  a  particular  volition  of  the 
Deity,  or  by  the  interposition  of  some  invisible  agent" 
(IV.  p.  134,  note),  is  still  less  defensible.  For  a  vast  num- 
ber of  miracles  have  professedly  been  worked,  neither  by 
the  Deity,  nor  by  any  invisible  agent ;  but  by  Beelzebub 
and  his  compeers,  or  by  very  visible  men. 

Moreover,  not  to  repeat  what  has  been  said  respecting 
the  absurdity  of  supposing  that  something  which  occurs 
is  a  transgression  of  laws,  our  only  knowledge  of  which  is 
derived  from  the  observation  of  that  which  occurs ;  upon 
what  sort  of  evidence  can  we  be  justified  in  concluding 
that  a  given  event  is  the  effect  of  a  particular  volition  of 
the  Deity,  or  of  the  interposition  of  some  invisible  (that 
is,  unperceivable)  agent  ?  It  may  be  so,  but  how  is  the  as- 
sertion that  it  is  so  to  be  tested?  If  it  be  said  that  the 
event  exceeds  the  power  of  natural  causes,  what  can  jus- 
tify such  a  saying?  The  day-fly  has  better  grounds  for 
calling  a  thunderstorm  supernatural,  than  has  man,  with 
his  experience  of  an  infinitesimal  fraction  of  duration,  to 
say  that  the  most  astonishing  event  that  can  be  imagined 
is  beyond  the  scope  of  natural  causes. 

"  Whatever  is  intelligible  and  can  be  distinctly  conceived, 
implies  no  contradiction,  and  can  never  be  proved  false  by 
any  demonstration,  argument,  or  abstract  reasoning  a  priori." 
—(IV.  p.  44.) 


vn.]  ORDER  OF  NATURE:   MIRACLES.  131 

So  wrote  Hume,  with  perfect  justice,  in  his  Sceptical 
Doubts.  But  a  miracle,  in  the  sense  of  a  sudden  and 
complete  change  in  the  customary  order  of  nature,  is  in- 
telligible, can  be  distinctly  conceived,  implies  no  contra- 
diction ;  and,  therefore,  according  to  Hume's  own  show- 
ing, cannot  be  proved  false  by  any  demonstrative  argu- 
ment. 

Nevertheless,  in  diametrical  contradiction  to  his  own 
principles,  Hume  says  elsewhere : — 

"  It  is  a  miracle  that  a  dead  man  should  come  to  life :  be- 
cause that  has  never  been  observed  in  any  age  or  country." — 
(IV.  p.  134.) 

That  is  to  say,  there  is  an  uniform  experience  against 
such  an  event,  and  therefore,  if  it  occurs,  it  is  a  violation 
of  the  laws  of  nature.  Or,  to  put  the  argument  in  its 
naked  absurdity,  that  which  never  has  happened  never  can 
happen,  without  a  violation  of  the  laws  of  nature.  In 
truth,  if  a  dead  man  did  come  to  life,  the  fact  would  be 
evidence,  not  that  any  law  of  nature  had  been  violated, 
but  that  those  laws,  even  when  they  express  the  results  of 
a  very  long  and  uniform  experience,  are  necessarily  based 
on  incomplete  knowledge,  and  are  to  be  held  only  as 
grounds  of  more  or  less  justifiable  expectation. 

To  sum  up,  the  definition  of  a  miracle  as  a  suspension 
or  a  contravention  of  the  order  of  Nature  is  self-contra- 
dictory, because  all  we  know  of  the  order  of  Nature  is 
derived  from  our  observation  of  the  course  of  events  of 
which  the  so-called  miracle  is  a  part.  On  the  other  hand, 
no  event  is  too  extraordinary  to  be  impossible ;  and,  there- 
fore, if  by  the  term  miracles  we  mean  only  "  extremely 
wonderful  events,"  there  can  be  no  just  ground  for  deny- 
ing the  possibility  of  their  occurrence. 


182  HUME.  [CHAP. 

Bat  when  we  turn  from  the  question  of  the  possibility 
of  miracles,  however  they  may  be  defined,  in  the  abstract, 
to  that  respecting  the  grounds  upon  which  we  are  justi- 
fied in  believing  any  particular  miracle,  Hume's  arguments 
have  a  very  different  value,  for  they  resolve  themselves 
into  a  simple  statement  of  the  dictates  of  common  sense 
— which  may  be  expressed  in  this  canon  :  the  more  a 
statement  of  fact  conflicts  with  previous  experience,  the 
more  complete  must  be  the  evidence  which  is  to  justify 
us  in  believing  it.  It  is  upon  this  principle  that  every 
one  carries  on  the  business  of  common  life.  If  a  man 
tells  me  he  saw  a  piebald  horse  in  Piccadilly,  I  believe 
him  without  hesitation.  The  thing  itself  is  likely  enough, 
and  there  is  no  imaginable  motive  for  his  deceiving  me. 
But  if  the  same  person  tells  me  he  observed  a  zebra  there, 
I  might  hesitate  a  little  about  accepting  his  testimony,  un- 
less I  were  well  satisfied,  not  only  as  to  his  previous  ac- 
quaintance with  zebras,  but  as  to  his  powers  and  opportu- 
nities of  observation  in  the  present  case.  If,  however,  my 
informant  assured  me  that  he  beheld  a  centaur  trotting 
down  that  famous  thoroughfare,  I  should  emphatically  de- 
cline to  credit  his  statement ;  and  this  even  if  he  were  the 
most  saintly  of  men  and  ready  to  suffer  martyrdom  in 
support  of  his  belief.  In  such  a  case,  I  could,  of  course, 
entertain  no  doubt  of  the  good  faith  of  the  witness ;  it 
would  be  only  his  competency,  which  unfortunately  has 
very  little  to  do  with  good  faith  or  intensity  of  convic- 
tion, which  I  should  presume  to  call  in  question. 

Indeed,  I  hardly  know  what  testimony  would  satisfy 
me  of  the  existence  of  a  live  centaur.  To  put  an  ex- 
treme case,  suppose  the  late  Johannes  Muller,  of  Berlin, 
the  greatest  anatomist  and  physiologist  among  my  con- 
temporaries, had  barely  affirmed  he  had  seen  a  live  cen- 


vn.]  ORDER  OF  NATURE :   MIRACLES.  133 

taur,  I  should  certainly  have  been  staggered  by  the  weight 
of  an  assertion  coming  from  such  an  authority.  But  I 
could  have  got  no  further  than  a  suspension  of  judgment. 
For,  on  the  whole,  it  would  have  been  more  probable  that 
even  he  had  fallen  into  some  error  of  interpretation  of  the 
facts  which  came  under  his  observation,  than  that  such  an 
animal  as  a  centaur  really  existed.  And  nothing  short  of 
a  careful  monograph,  by  a  highly  competent  investigator, 
accompanied  by  figures  and  measurements  of  all  the  most 
important  parts  of  a  centaur,  put  forth  under  circum 
stances  which  could  leave  no  doubt  that  falsification  or 
misinterpretation  would  meet  with  immediate  exposure, 
could  possibly  enable  a  man  of  science  to  feel  that  he  act- 
ed conscientiously  in  expressing  his  belief  in  the  exist- 
ence of  a  centaur  on  the  evidence  of  testimony. 

This  hesitation  about  admitting  the  existence  of  such  an 
animal  as  a  centaur,  be  it  observed,  does  not  deserve  re- 
proach, as  scepticism,  but  moderate  praise,  as  mere  scien- 
tific good  faith.  It  need  not  imply,  and  it  does  not,  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  any  a  priori  hypothesis  that  a  cen- 
taur is  an  impossible  animal ;  or  that  his  existence,  if  he 
did  exist,  would  violate  the  laws  of  nature.  Indubitably, 
the  organisation  of  a  centaur  presents  a  variety  of  practical 
difficulties  to  an  anatomist  and  physiologist ;  and  a  good 
many  of  those  generalisations  of  our  present  experience, 
which  we  are  pleased  to  call  laws  of  nature,  would  be  upset 
by  the  appearance  of  such  an  animal,  so  that  we  should 
have  to  frame  new  laws  to  cover  our  extended  experience. 
Every  wise  man  will  admit  that  the  possibilities  of  nature 
are  infinite,  and  include  centaurs ;  but  he  will  not  the  less 
feel  it  his  duty  to  hold  fast,  for  the  present,  by  the  dictum 
of  Lucretius,  "  Nam  certe  ex  vivo  Centauri  non  fit  imago," 
jnd  to  cast  the  entire  burthen  of  proof,  that  centaurs  exist, 


184  HTJME.  [CHAP. 

on  the  shoulders  of  those  who  ask  him  to  believe  the 
statement. 

Judged  by  the  canons  either  of  common  sense  or  of 
science,  which  are  indeed  one  and  the  same,  all  "  miracles  " 
are  centaurs,  or  they  would  not  be  miracles ;  and  men  of 
sense  and  science  will  deal  with  them  on  the  same  princi- 
ples. No  one  who  wishes  to  keep  well  within  the  limits 
of  that  which  he  has  a  right  to  assert  will  affirm  that  it  is 
impossible  that  the  sun  and  moon  should  ever  have  been 
made  to  appear  to  stand  still  in  the  valley  of  Ajalon ;  or 
that  the  walls  of  a  city  should  have  fallen  down  at  a  trum- 
pet blast;  or  that  water  was  turned  into  wine;  because 
such  events  are  contrary  to  uniform  experience  and  violate 
laws  of  nature.  For  aught  he  can  prove  to  the  contrary, 
such  events  may  appear  in  the  order  of  nature  to-morrow. 
But  common  sense  and  common  honesty  alike  oblige  him 
to  demand  from  those  who  would  have  him  believe  in  the 
actual  occurrence  of  such  events,  evidence  of  a  cogency 
proportionate  to  their  departure  from  probability;  evi- 
dence at  least  as  strong  as  that  which  the  man  who  says 
he  has  seen  a  centaur  is  bound  to  produce,  unless  he  is 
content  to  be  thought  either  more  than  credulous  or  less 
than  honest. 

But  are  there  any  miracles  on  record,  the  evidence  for 
which  fulfils  the  plain  and  simple  requirements  alike  of 
elementary  logic  and  of  elementary  morality  ? 

Hume  answers  this  question  without  the  smallest  hesita- 
tion, and  with  all  the  authority  of  a  historical  specialist : — 

"  There  is  not  to  be  found,  in  all  history,  any  miracle  at- 
tested by  a  sufficient  number  of  men,  of  such  unquestioned 
goodness,  education,  and  learning,  as  to  secure  us  against  all 
delusion  in  themselves ;  of  such  undoubted  integrity,  as  to 
place  them  beyond  all  suspicion  of  any  design  to  deceive  oth- 


vn.]  ORDER  OF  NATURE:  MIRACLES.  136 

era ;  of  such  credit  and  reputation  in  the  eyes  of  mankind, 
as  to  have  a  great  deal  to  lose  in  case  of  their  being  detected 
in  any  falsehood ;  and  at  the  same  time  attesting  facts,  per- 
formed in  such  a  public  manner,  and  in  so  celebrated  a  part 
of  the  world,  as  to  render  the  detection  unavoidable :  All 
which  circumstances  are  requisite  to  give  us  a  full  assurance 
of  the  testimony  of  men." — (IV.  p.  135.) 

These  are  grave  assertions,  but  they  are  least  likely  to 
be  challenged  by  those  who  have  made  it  their  business  to 
weigh  evidence  and  to  give  their  decision  under  a  due 
sense  of  the  moral  responsibility  which  they  incur  in  so 
doing. 

It  is  probable  that  few  persons  who  proclaim  their  be- 
lief in  miracles  have  considered  what  would  be  necessary 
to  justify  that  belief  in  the  case  of  a  professed  modern 
miracle-worker.  Suppose,  for  example,  it  is  affirmed  that 
A.B.  died,  and  that  C.D.  brought  him  to  life  again.  Let 
it  be  granted  that  A.B.  and  C.D.  are  persons  of  unim- 
peachable honour  and  veracity ;  that  C.D.  is  the  next  heir 
to  A.B.'s  estate,  and  therefore  had  a  strong  motive  for 
not  bringing  him  to  life  again ;  and  that  all  A.B.'s  rela- 
tions, respectable  persons  who  bore  him  a  strong  affection, 
or  had  otherwise  an  interest  in  his  being  alive,  declared  that 
they  saw  him  die.  Furthermore,  let  A.B.  be  seen  after 
his  recovery  by  all  his  friends  and  neighbours,  and  let  his 
and  their  depositions,  that  he  is  now  alive,  be  taken  down 
before  a  magistrate  of  known  integrity  and  acuteness: 
would  all  this  constitute  even  presumptive  evidence  that 
C.D.  had  worked  a  miracle?  Unquestionably  not.  For 
the  most  important  link  in  the  whole  chain  of  evidence  is 
wanting,  and  that  is  the  proof  that  A.B.  was  really  dead. 
The  evidence  of  ordinary  observers  on  such  a  point  as  this 
is  absolutely  worthless.  And  even  medical  evidence,  un- 


186  HUME.  [our. 

less  the  physician  is  a  person  of  unusual  knowledge  and 
skill,  may  have  little  more  value.  Unless  careful  thermo- 
metric  observation  proves  that  the  temperature  has  sunk 
below  a  certain  point;  unless  the  cadaveric  stiffening  of 
the  muscles  has  become  well  established;  all  the  ordina- 
ry signs  of  death  may  be  fallacious,  and  the  intervention 
of  C.D.  may  have  had  no  more  to  do  with  A.B.'s  restora- 
tion to  life  than  any  other  fortuitously  coincident  event. 

It  may  be  said  that  such  a  coincidence  would  be  more 
wonderful  than  the  miracle  itself.  Nevertheless  history 
acquaints  us  with  coincidences  as  marvellous. 

On  the  19th  of  February,  1842,  Sir  Robert  Sale  held 
Jellalabad  with  a  small  English  force,  and,  daily  expecting 
attack  from  an  overwhelming  force  of  Afghans,  had  spent 
three  months  in  incessantly  labouring  to  improve  the  forti- 
fications of  the  town.  Akbar  Khan  had  approached  with- 
in a  few  miles,  and  an  onslaught  of  his  army  was  supposed 
to  be  imminent.  That  morning  an  earthquake — 

"  nearly  destroyed  the  town,  threw  down  the  greater  part  of 
the  parapets,  the  central  gate  with  the  adjoining  bastions, 
and  a  part  of  the  new  bastion  which  flanked  it.  Three  oth- 
er bastions  were  also  nearly  destroyed,  whilst  several  large 
breaches  were  made  in  the  curtains,  and  the  Peshawur  side, 
eighty  feet  long,  was  quite  practicable,  the  ditch  being  filled, 
and  the  descent  easy.  Thus  in  one  moment  the  labours  of 
three  months  were  in  a  great  measure  destroyed."  ' 

If  Akbar  Khan  had  happened  to  give  orders  for  an  as- 
sault in  the  early  morning  of  the  19th  of  February,  what 
good  follower  of  the  Prophet  could  have  doubted  that 
Allah  had  lent  his  aid?  As  it  chanced,  however,  Mahome- 

1  Report  of  Captain  Broadf  oot,  garrison  engineer,  quoted  in  Kaye's 


vn.]  ORDER  OF  NATURE:   MIRACLES.  137 

tan  faith  in  the  miraculous  took  another  turn ;  for  the  en- 
ergetic defenders  of  the  post  had  repaired  the  damage  by 
the  end  of  the  month ;  and  the  enemy,  finding  no  signs  of 
the  earthquake  when  they  invested  the  place,  ascribed  the 
supposed  immunity  of  Jellalabad  to  English  witchcraft. 

But  the  conditions  of  belief  do  not  vary  with  time  or 
place ;  and,  if  it  is  undeniable  that  evidence  of  so  com- 
plete and  weighty  a  character  is  needed,  at  the  present 
time,  for  the  establishment  of  the  occurrence  of  such  a 
wonder  as  that  supposed,  it  has  always  been  needful. 
Those  who  study  the  extant  records  of  miracles  with  due 
attention  will  judge  for  themselves  how  far  it  has  eve? 
been  supplied. 


CHAPTER 

THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY. 

HUME  seems  to  have  had  but  two  hearty  dislikes :  the  one 
to  the  English  nation,  and  the  other  to  all  the  professors 
of  dogmatic  theology.  The  one  aversion  he  vented  only 
privately  to  his  friends ;  but,  if  he  is  ever  bitter  in  his 
public  utterances,  it  is  against  priests1  in  general  and  theo- 
logical enthusiasts  and  fanatics  in  particular;  if  he  ever 
seems  insincere,  it  is  when  he  wishes  to  insult  theologians 
by  a  parade  of  sarcastic  respect.  One  need  go  no  further 
than  the  peroration  of  the  Essay  on  Miracles  for  a  char- 
acteristic illustration. 

"I  am  "the  better  pleased  with  the  method  of  reasoning 
here  delivered,  as  I  think  it  may  serve  to  confound  those 
dangerous  friends  and  disguised  enemies  to  the  Christian  re- 
ligion who  have  undertaken  to  defend  it  by  the  principles  of 
human  reason.  Our  most  holy  religion  is  founded  on  Faith, 
not  on  reason,  and  it  is  a  sure  method  of  exposing  it  to  put 

1  In  a  note  to  the  Essay  on  Superstition  and  Enthusiasm,  Hume  is 
careful  to  define  what  he  means  by  this  term.  "By  priests  I  under- 
stand only  the  pretenders  to  power  and  dominion,  and  to  a  superior 
sanctity  of  character,  distinct  from  virtue  and  good  morals.  These 
are  very  different  from  clergymen,  who  are  set  apart  to  the  care  of 
sacred  matters,  and  the  conducting  our  public  devotions  with  greater 
decency  and  order.  There  is  no  rank  of  men  more  to  be  respected 
than  the  latter."— (HI.  p.  88.) 


vin.]  THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY.  139 

it  to  such  a  trial  as  it  is  by  no  means  fitted  to  endure  . . . 
the  Christian  religion  not  only  was  at  first  attended  with 
miracles,  but  even  at  this  day  cannot  be  believed  by  any  rea- 
sonable person  without  one.  Mere  reason  is  insufficient  to 
convince  us  of  its  veracity :  And  whoever  is  moved  by  Faith 
to  assent  to  it,  is  conscious  of  a  continual  miracle  in  his  own 
person,  which  subverts  all  the  principles  of  his  understand- 
ing, and  gives  him  a  determination  to  believe  what  is  most 
contrary  to  custom  and  experience." — (IV.  pp.  153, 154.) 

It  is  obvious  that,  here  and  elsewhere,  Hume,  adopting 
a  popular  confusion  of  ideas,  uses  religion  as  the  equiva- 
lent of  dogmatic  theology;  and,  therefore,  he  says,  with 
perfect  justice,  that  "  religion  is  nothing  but  a  species  of 
philosophy"  (iv.  p.  171).  Here  no  doubt  lies  the  root  of 
his  antagonism.  The  quarrels  of  theologians  and  philoso- 
phers have  not  been  about  religion,  but  about  philosophy ; 
and  philosophers  not  unfrequently  seem  to  entertain  the 
same  feeling  towards  theologians  that  sportsmen  cherish 
towards  poachers.  "There  cannot  be  two  passions  more 
nearly  resembling  each  other  than  hunting  and  philoso- 
phy," says  Hume.  And  philosophic  hunters  are  given  to 
think  that,  while  they  pursue  truth  for  its  own  sake,  out 
of  pure  love  for  the  chase  (perhaps  mingled  with  a  little 
human  weakness  to  be  thought  good  shots),  and  by  open 
and  legitimate  methods ;  their  theological  competitors  too 
often  care  merely  to  supply  the  market  of  establishments ; 
and  disdain  neither  the  aid  of  the  snares  of  superstition, 
nor  the  cover  of  the  darkness  of  ignorance. 

Unless  some  foundation  was  given  for  this  impression 
by  the  theological  writers  whose  works  had  fallen  in 
Hume's  way,  it  is  difficult  to  account  for  the  depth  of 
feeling  which  so  good-natured  a  man  manifests  on  the 
subject. 

K          7 


140  HUME.  [our. 

Thus  he  writes  in  the  Natural  History  of  Religion, 
with  quite  unusual  acerbity : — 

"  The  chief  objection  to  it  [the  ancient  heathen  mytholo- 
gy] with  regard  to  this  planet  is,  that  it  is  not  ascertained 
by  any  just  reason  or  authority.  The  ancient  tradition  in- 
sisted on  by  heathen  priests  and  theologers  is  but  a  weak 
foundation :  and  transmitted  also  such  a  number  of  contra- 
dictory reports,  supported  all  of  them  by  equal  authority, 
that  it  became  absolutely  impossible  to  fix  a  preference 
among  them.  A  few  volumes,  therefore,  must  contain  all 
the  polemical  writings  of  pagan  priests :  And  their  whole 
theology  must  consist  more  of  traditional  stories  and  super- 
stitious practices  than  of  philosophical  argument  and  con- 
troversy. 

"But  where  theism  forms  the  fundamental  principle  of 
any  popular  religion,  that  tenet  is  so  conformable  to  sound 
reason,  that  philosophy  is  apt  to  incorporate  itself  with  such 
a  system  of  theology.  And  if  the  other  dogmas  of  that  sys- 
tem be  contained  in  a  sacred  book,  such  as  the  Alcoran,  or 
be  determined  by  any  visible  authority,  like  that  of  the  Ro- 
man pontiff,  speculative  reasoners  naturally  carry  on  their 
assent,  and  embrace  a  theory,  which  has  been  instilled  into 
them  by  their  earliest  education,  and  which  also  possesses 
some  degree  of  consistence  and  uniformity.  But  as  these 
appearances  are  sure,  all  of  them,  to  prove  deceitful,  philoso- 
phy will  very  soon  find  herself  very  unequally  yoked  with 
her  new  associate ;  and  instead  of  regulating  each  principle, 
as  they  advance  together,  she  is  at  every  turn  perverted  to 
serve  the  purposes  of  superstition.  For  besides  the  unavoid- 
able incoherences,  which  must  be  reconciled  and  adjusted, 
one  may  safely  affirm,  that  all  popular  theology,  especially 
the  scholastic,  has  a  kind  of  appetite  for  absurdity  and  con- 
tradiction. If  that  theology  went  not  beyond  reason  and 
common  sense,  her  doctrines  would  appear  too  easy  and  fa- 
miliar. Amazement  must  of  necessity  be  raised:  Mystery 


vm.]  THEISM ;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY.  141 

affected :  Darkness  and  obscurity  sought  after :  And  a  foun- 
dation of  merit  afforded  to  the  devout  votaries,  who  desire 
an  opportunity  of  subduing  their  rebellious  reason  by  th« 
belief  of  the  most  unintelligible  sophisms. 

"Ecclesiastical  history  sufficiently  confirms  these  reflec- 
tions. When  a  controversy  is  started,  some  people  always 
pretend  with  certainty  to  foretell  the  issue.  Whichever 
opinion,  say  they,  is  most  contrary  to  plain  reason  is  sure  to 
prevail;  even  when  the  general  interest  of  the  system  re- 
quires not  that  decision.  Though  the  reproach  of  heresy 
may,  for  some  time,  be  bandied  about  among  the  disputants, 
it  always  rests  at  last  on  the  side  of  reason.  Any  one,  it  is 
pretended,  that  has  but  learning  enough  of  this  kind  to 
know  the  definition  of  Arian,  Pelagian,  Erastian,  Socinian, 
Sabellian,  Eutychian,  Nestorian,  Monothelite,  &c.,  not  to  men- 
tion Protestant,  whose  fate  is  yet  uncertain,  will  be  convinced 
of  the  truth  of  this  observation.  It  is  thus  a  system  becomes 
absurd  in  the  end,  merely  from  its  being  reasonable  and 
philosophical  in  the  beginning. 

"  To  oppose  the  torrent  of  scholastic  religion  by  such  fee- 
ble maxims  as  these,  that  it  is  impossible  for  the  same  thing  U 
~be  and  not  to  be,  that  the  whole  is  greater  than  a  part,  that  two 
and  three  make  five,  is  pretending  to  stop  the  ocean  with  a 
bulrush.  Will  you  set  up  profane  reason  against  sacred  mys- 
tery? No  punishment  is  great  enough  for  your  impiety. 
And  the  same  fires  which  were  kindled  for  heretics  will 
serve  also  for  the  destruction  of  philosophers." — (IV.  pp.  481 
-3.) 

Holding  these  opinions  respecting  the  recognised  sys- 
tems of  theology  and  their  professors,  Hume,  nevertheless, 
seems  to  have  had  a  theology  of  his  own ;  that  is  to  say, 
he  seems  to  have  thought  (though,  as  will  appear,  it  is 
needful  for  an  expositor  of  his  opinions  to  speak  very 
guardedly  on  this  point)  that  the  problem  of  theism  is 
susceptible  of  scientific  treatment,  with  something  more 


142  FUME.  [CHAP. 

than  a  negative  result.  His  opinions  are  to  be  gathered 
from  the  eleventh  section  of  the  Inquiry  (1748);  from 
the  Dialogues  concerning  Natural  Religion,  which  were 
written  at  least  as  early  as  1751,  though  not  published  till 
after  his  death ;  and  from  the  Natural  History  of  Relig- 
ion, published  in  1757. 

In  the  first  two  pieces,  the  reader  is  left  to  judge  for 
himself  which  interlocutor  in  the  dialogue  represents  the 
thoughts  of  the  author ;  but,  for  the  views  put  forward  in 
the  last,  Hume  accepts  the  responsibility.  Unfortunately, 
this  essay  deals  almost  wholly  with  the  historical  develop- 
ment of  theological  ideas ;  and,  on  the  question  of  the  phil- 
osophical foundation  of  theology,  does  little  more  than  ex- 
press the  writer's  contentment  with  the  argument  from 
design. 

"  The  whole  frame  of  nature  bespeaks  an  Intelligent  Au- 
thor; and  no  rational  inquirer  can,  after  serious  reflection, 
suspend  his  belief  a  moment  with  regard  to  the  primary 
principles  of  genuine  Theism  and  Religion." — (IV.  p.  435.) 

"  Were  men  led  into  the  apprehension  of  invisible,  intelli- 
gent power  by  a  contemplation  of  the  works  of  nature,  they 
could  never  possibly  entertain  any  conception  but  of  one 
single  being,  who  bestowed  existence  and  order  on  this  vast 
machine,  and  adjusted  all  its  parts  according  to  one  regular 
plan  or  connected  system.  For  though,  to  persons  of  a  cer- 
tain turn  of  mind,  it  may  not  appear  altogether  absurd  that 
several  independent  beings,  endowed  with  superior  wisdom, 
might  conspire  in  the  contrivance  and  execution  of  one  reg- 
ular plan,  yet  is  this  a  merely  arbitrary  supposition,  which, 
even  if  allowed  possible,  must  be  confessed  neither  to  be 
supported  by  probability  nor  necessity.  All  things  in  the 
universe  are  evidently  of  a  piece.  Everything  is  adjusted 
to  everything.  One  design  prevails  throughout  the  whole. 
And  this  uniformity  leads  the  mind  to  acknowledge  one  au- 


vin.]  THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY.  148 

thor;  because  the  conception  of  different  authors,  without 
any  distinction  of  attributes  or  operations,  serves  only  to 
give  perplexity  to  the  imagination,  without  bestowing  any 
satisfaction  on  the  understanding." — (IV.  p.  442.) 

Thus  Hume  appears  to  have  sincerely  accepted  the  two 
fundamental  conclusions  of  the  argument  from  design; 
firstly,  that  a  Deity  exists ;  and,  secondly,  that  He  pos- 
sesses attributes  more  or  less  allied  to  those  of  human 
intelligence.  But,  at  this  embryonic  stage  of  theology, 
Hume's  progress  is  arrested;  and,  after  a  survey  of  the 
development  of  dogma,  his  "  general  corollary  "  is,  that — 

"  The  whole  is  a  riddle,  an  enigma,  an  inexplicable  mys- 
tery. Doubt,  uncertainty,  suspense  of  judgment,  appear  the 
only  result  of  our  most  accurate  scrutiny  concerning  this 
subject.  But  such  is  the  frailty  of  human  reason,  and  such 
the  irresistible  contagion  of  opinion,  that  even  this  deliber- 
ate doubt  could  scarcely  be  upheld ;  did  we  not  enlarge  our 
view,  and,  opposing  one  species  of  superstition  to  another, 
set  them  a  quarrelling ;  while  we  ourselves,  during  their  fury 
and  contention,  happily  make  our  escape  into  the  calm, 
though  obscure,  regions  of  philosophy." — (IV.  p.  513.) 

Thus  it  may  be  fairly  presumed  that  Hume  expresses 
his  own  sentiments  in  the  words  of  the  speech  with  which 
Philo  concludes  the  Dialogues. 

"If  the  whole  of  natural  theology,  as  some  people  seem  to 
maintain,  resolves  itself  into  one  simple,  though  somewhat 
ambiguous,  at  least  undefined  proposition,  That  the  cause  or 
causes  of  order  in  the  universe  probably  ~bear  some  remote  analo- 
gy to  human  intelligence :  If  this  proposition  be  not  capable 
of  extension,  variation,  or  more  particular  explication :  If  it 
affords  no  inference  that  affects  human  life  or  can  be  the 
source  of  any  action  or  forbearance :  And  if  the  analogy,  im- 
perfect as  it  is,  can  be  carried  no  further  than  to  the  human 


144  HUME.  [CHAT. 

intelligence,  and  cannot  be  transferred,  with  any  appearance 
of  probability,  to  the  other  qualities  of  the  mind ;  if  this 
really  be  the  case,  what  can  the  most  inquisitive,  contempla- 
tive, and  religious  man  do  more  than  give  a  plain,  philo- 
sophical assent  to  the  proposition  as  often  as  it  occurs,  and 
believe  that  the  arguments  on  which  it  is  established  exceed 
the  objections  which  lie  against  it  ?  Some  astonishment,  in- 
deed, will  naturally  arise  from  the  greatness  of  the  object ; 
some  melancholy  from  its  obscurity ;  some  contempt  of  hu- 
man reason,  that  it  can  give  no  solution  more  satisfactory 
with  regard  to  so  extraordinary  and  magnificent  a  question. 
But  believe  me,  Cleanthes,  the  most  natural  sentiment  which 
a  well-disposed  mind  will  feel  on  this  occasion,  is  a  longing 
desire  and  expectation  that  Heaven  would  be  pleased  to  dis- 
sipate, at  least  alleviate,  this  profound  ignorance,  by  afford- 
ing some  more  particular  revelation  to  mankind,  and  making 
discoveries  of  the  nature,  attributes,  and  operations  of  the 
Divine  object  of  our  faith."  >— (II.  p.  547—8.) 

Such  being  the  sum  total  of  Humes  conclusions,  it 
oannot  be  said  that  his  theological  burden  is  a  heavy 
one.  But,  if  we  turn  from  the  Natural  History  of  Re- 
ligion, to  the  Treatise,  the  Inquiry,  and  the  Dialogues,  the 
story  of  what  happened  to  the  ass  laden  with  salt,  who 
took  to  the  water,  irresistibly  suggests  itself.  Hume's 
theism,  such  as  it  is,  dissolves  away  in  the  dialectic  river, 

1  It  is  needless  to  quote  the  rest  of  the  passage,  though  I  cannot 
refrain  from  observing  that  the  recommendation  which  it  contains, 
that  a  "  man  of  letters  "  should  become  a  philosophical  sceptic  as 
"  the  first  and  most  essential  step  towards  being  a  sound  believing 
Christian,"  though  adopted  and  largely  acted  upon  by  many  a  cham- 
pion of  orthodoxy  in  these  days,  is  questionable  in  taste,  if  it  be 
meant  as  a  jest,  and  more  than  questionable  in  morality,  if  it  is  to 
be  taken  in  earnest.  To  pretend  that  you  believe  any  doctrine  for 
no  better  reason  than  that  you  doubt  everything  else,  would  be  dis- 
honest, if  it  were  not  preposterous. 


vin.]  THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY.  145 

until  nothing  is  left  but  the  verbal  sack  in  which  it  was 
contained. 

Of  the  two  theistic  propositions  to  which  Hume  is  com- 
mitted, the  first  is  the  affirmation  of  the  existence  of  a 
God,  supported  by  the  argument  from  the  nature  of  cau- 
sation. In  the  Dialogues,  Philo,  while  pushing  scepticism 
to  its  utmost  limit,  is  nevertheless  made  to  say  that — 

"...  where  reasonable  men  treat  these  subjects,  the  ques- 
tion can  never  be  concerning  the  Being,  but  only  the  Nature, 
of  the  Deity.  The  former  truth,  as  you  will  observe,  is  un- 
questionable and  self-evident.  Nothing  exists  without  a 
cause,  and  the  original  cause  of  this  universe  (whatever  it  be) 
we  call  God,  and  piously  ascribe  to  him  every  species  of  per- 
fection."—^, p.  439.) 

The  expositor  of  Hume,  who  wishes  to  do  his  work  thor- 
oughly, as  far  as  it  goes,  cannot  but  fall  into  perplexity1 

1  A  perplexity  which  is  increased  rather  than  diminished  by  some 
passages  in  a  letter  to  Gilbert  Elliot  of  Minto  (March  10,  1751). 
Hume  says,  "  You  would  perceive  by  the  sample  I  have  given  you 
that  I  make  Cleanthes  the  hero  of  the  dialogue ;  whatever  you  can 
think  of,  to  strengthen  that  side  of  the  argument,  will  be  most  ac- 
ceptable to  me.  Any  propensity  you  imagine  I  have  to  the  other 
side  crept  in  upon  me  against  my  will ;  and  'tis  not  long  ago  that  I 
burned  an  old  manuscript  book,  wrote  before  I  was  twenty,  which 
contained,  page  after  page,  the  gradual  progress  of  my  thoughts  on 
this  head.  It  began  with  an  anxious  scent  after  arguments  to  con- 
firm the  common  opinion  ;  doubts  stole  in,  dissipated,  returned ;  were 
again  dissipated,  returned  again ;  and  it  was  a  perpetual  struggle  of 
a  restless  imagination  against  inclination — perhaps  against  reason. 
...  I  could  wish  Cleanthes'  argument  could  be  so  analysed  as  to  be 
rendered  quite  formal  and  regular.  The  propensity  of  the  mind  to- 
wards it — unless  that  propensity  were  as  strong  and  universal  as  that 
to  believe  in  our  senses  and  experience — will  still,  I  am  afraid,  be  es- 
teemed a  suspicious  foundation.  'Tis  here  1  wish  for  your  assistance. 
We  must  endeavour  to  prove  that  this  propensity  is  somewhat  differ- 
35 


146  HUME.  [CHAP. 

when  he  contrasts  this  language  with  that  of  the  sections 
of  the  third  part  of  the  Treatise,  entitled,  Why  a  Cause  is 
Always  Necessary,  and  Of  the  Idea  of  Necessary  Connexion. 

It  is  there  shown,  at  large,  that  "  every  demonstration 
which  has  been  produced  for  the  necessity  of  a  cause  is 
fallacious  and  sophistical"  (I.  p.  Ill);  it  is  affirmed  that 
"there  is  no  absolute  nor  metaphysical  necessity  that 
every  beginning  of  existence  should  be  attended  with  such 
an  object"  [as  a  cause]  (I.  p.  227) ;  and  it  is  roundly  as- 
serted that  it  is  "  easy  for  us  to  conceive  any  object  to  be 
non-existent  this  moment  and  existent  the  next,  without 
conjoining  to  it  the  distinct  idea  of  a  cause  or  productive 
principle"  (I.  p.  111).  So  far  from  the  axiom,  that  what- 
ever begins  to  exist  must  have  a  cause  of  existence,  being 
"  self-evident,"  as  Philo  calls  it,  Hume  spends  the  greatest 
care  in  showing  that  it  is  nothing  but  the  product  of  cus- 
tom or  experience. 

And  the  doubt  thus  forced  upon  one,  whether  Philo 
ought  to  be  taken  as  even,  so  far,  Hume's  mouth -piece, 
is  increased  when  we  reflect  that  we  are  dealing  with  an 
acute  reasoner ;  and  that  there  is  no  difficulty  in  drawing 
the  deduction  from  Hume's  own  definition  of  a  cause,  that 
the  very  phrase,  a  "  first  cause,"  involves  a  contradiction 
in  terms.  He  lays  down  that, — 

"  "Tis  an  established  axiom  both  in  natural  and  moral  phi- 
losophy, that  an  object,  which  exists  for  any  time  in  its  full 

ent  from  our  inclination  to  find  our  own  figures  in  the  clouds,  our 
faces  in  the  moon,  our  passions  and  sentiments  even  in  inanimate 
matter.  Such  an  inclination  may  and  ought  to  be  controlled,  and 
can  never  be  a  legitimate  ground  of  assent."  (Burton,  Ijfe,  I.,  p. 
331 — 3.)  The  picture  of  Hume  here  drawn  unconsciously  by  his  own 
hand,  is  unlike  enough  to  the  popular  conception  of  him  as  a  care- 
less sceptic  loving  doubt  for  doubt's  sake. 


Yin.]  THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY.  147 

perfection  without  producing  another,  is  not  its  sole  cause ; 
but  is  assisted  by  some  other  principle  which  pushes  it  from 
its  state  of  inactivity,  and  makes  it  exert  that  energy  of  which 
it  was  secretly  possessed." — (I.  p.  106.) 

Now  the  "  first  cause  "  is  assumed  to  have  existed  from 
all  eternity,  up  to  the  moment  at  which  the  universe  came 
into  existence.  Hence  it  cannot  be  the  sole  cause  of  the 
universe ;  in  fact,  it  was  no  cause  at  all  until  it  was  "  as- 
sisted by  some  other  principle ;"  consequently  the  so-called 
"  first  cause,"  so  far  as  it  produces  the  universe,  is  in  real- 
ity an  effect  of  that  other  principle.  Moreover,  though, 
in  the  person  of  Philo,  Hume  assumes  the  axiom  "  that 
whatever  begins  to  exist  must  have  a  cause,"  which  he  de- 
nies in  the  Treatise,  he  must  have  seen,  for  a  child  may  see, 
that  the  assumption  is  of  no  real  service. 

Suppose  Y  to  be  the  imagined  first  cause  and  Z  to  be 
its  effect.  Let  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  a,  6,  c,  d,  e,  f,  g, 
in  their  order,  represent  successive  moments  of  time,  and 
let  g  represent  the  particular  moment  at  which  the  effect 
Z  makes  its  appearance.  It  follows  that  the  cause  Y  could 
not  have  existed  "  in  its  full  perfection  "  during  the  tim« 
a — e,  for  if  it  had,  then  the  effect  Z  would  have  come  into 
existence  during  that  time,  which,  by  the  hypothesis,  it 
did  not  do.  The  cause  Y,  therefore,  must  have  come  into 
existence  at/,  and  if  "everything  that  comes  into  existence 
has  a  cause,"  Y  must  have  had  a  cause  X  operating  at  e  ; 
X,  a  cause  W  operating  at  d;  and  so  on  ad  infinitum.1 

1  Kant  employs  substantially  the  same  argument :— "Wiirde  das 
hochste  Wesen  in  dieser  Kette  der  Bedingungen  stehen,  so  wiirde  ea 
selbst  ein  Glied  der  Reihe  derselben  sein,  und  eben  so  wie  die  niede- 
ren  Glieder,  denen  es  vorgesetzt  ist,  noch  fernere  Untersuchungen 
wegen  seines  noch  hb'heren  Grundes  erfahren." — Kritik.  Ed.  Hart- 
enatein,  p.  422. 
7* 


146  HUME.  [CHAP. 

If  the  only  demonstrative  argument  for  the  existence 
of  a  Deity,  which  Hume  advances,  thus,  literally,  "goes 
to  water "  in  the  solvent  of  his  philosophy,  the  reasoning 
from  the  evidence  of  design  does  not  fare  much  better. 
If  Hume  really  knew  of  any  valid  reply  to  Philo's  argu- 
ments in  the  following  passages  of  the  Dialogues,  he  has 
dealt  unfairly  by  the  reader  in  concealing  it : — 

"  But  because  I  know  you  are  not  much  swayed  by  names 
and  authorities,  I  shall  endeavour  to  show  you,  a  little  more 
distinctly,  the  inconveniences  of  that  Anthropomorphism 
which  you  have  embraced;  and  shall  prove  that  there  is 
no  ground  to  suppose  a  plan  of  the  world  to  be  formed  in 
the  Divine  mind,  consisting  of  distinct  ideas,  differently  ar- 
ranged, in  the  same  manner  as  an  architect  forms  in  his 
head  the  plan  of  a  house  which  he  intends  to  execute. 

"  It  is  not  easy,  I  own,  to  see  what  is  gained  by  this  sup- 
position, whether  we  judge  the  matter  by  Reason  or  by  Expe- 
rience. We  are  still  obliged  to  mount  higher,  in  order  to  find 
the  cause  of  this  cause,  which  you  had  assigned  as  satisfac- 
tory and  conclusive. 

"  If  Reason  (I  mean  abstract  reason,  derived  from  inquiries 
a  priori)  be  not  alike  mute  with  regard  to  all  questions  con- 
cerning cause  and  effect,  this  sentence  at  least  it  will  venture 
to  pronounce :  That  a  mental  world,  or  universe  of  ideas,  re- 
quires a  cause  as  much  as  does  a  material  world,  or  universe 
of  objects ;  and,  if  similar  in  its  arrangement,  must  require 
a  similar  cause.  For  what  is  there  in  this  subject  which 
should  occasion  a  different  conclusion  or  inference  ?  In  an 
abstract  view,  they  are  entirely  alike ;  and  no  difficulty  at- 
tends the  one  supposition,  which  is  not  common  to  both  of 
them. 

"  Again,  when  we  will  needs  force  Experience  to  pronounce 
some  sentence,  even  on  those  subjects  which  lie  beyond  her 
sphere,  neither  can  she  perceive  any  material  difference  in 
this  particular  between  these  two  kinds  of  worlds ;  but  finds 


vui.]  THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OP  THEOLOGY.  149 

them  to  be  governed  by  similar  principles,  and  to  depend 
upon  an  equal  variety  of  causes  In  their  operations.  We 
have  specimens  in  miniature  of  both  of  them.  Our  own 
mind  resembles  the  one;  a  vegetable  or  animal  body  the 
other.  Let  experience,  therefore,  judge  from  these  samples. 
Nothing  seems  more  delicate,  with  regard  to  its  causes,  than 
thought :  and  as  these  causes  never  operate  in  two  persons 
after  the  same  manner,  so  we  never  find  two  persons  who 
think  exactly  alike.  Nor  indeed  does  the  same  person  think 
exactly  alike  at  any  two  different  periods  of  time.  A  differ- 
ence of  age,  of  the  disposition  of  his  body,  of  weather,  of 
food,  of  company,  of  books,  of  passions ;  any  of  these  partic- 
ulars, or  others  more  minute,  are  sufficient  to  alter  the  curi- 
ous machinery  of  thought,  and  communicate  to  it  very  dif- 
ferent movements  and  operations.  As  far  as  we  can  judge, 
vegetables  and  animal  bodies  are  not  more  delicate  in  their 
motions,  nor  depend  upon  a  greater  variety  or  more  curious 
adjustment  of  springs  and  principles. 

"  How,  therefore,  shall  we  satisfy  ourselves  concerning  the 
cause  of  that  Being  whom  you  suppose  the  Author  of  Nature, 
or,  according  to  your  system  of  anthropomorphism,  the  ideal 
world  in  which  you  trace  the  material  ?  Have  we  not  the 
same  reason  to  trace  the  ideal  world  into  another  ideal  world, 
or  new  intelligent  principle  ?  But  if  we  stop  and  go  no 
farther;  why  go  so  far?  Why  not  stop  at  the  material 
world  ?  How  can  we  satisfy  ourselves  without  going  on  in 
infinitum?  And,  after  all,  what  satisfaction  is  there  in  that 
infinite  progression?  Let  us  remember  the  story  of  the 
Indian  philosopher  and  his  elephant.  It  was  never  more 
applicable  than  to  the  present  subject.  If  the  material 
world  rests  upon  a  similar  ideal  world,  this  ideal  world  must 
rest  upon  some  other;  and  so  on  without  end.  It  were  bet- 
ter, therefore,  never  to  look  beyond  the  present  material 
world.  By  supposing  it  to  contain  the  principle  of  its  order 
within  itself,  we  really  assert  it  to  be  God ;  and  the  sooner 
we  arrive  at  that  Divine  Being,  so  much  the  better.  "When 


160  HUME.  [CHAP. 

you  go  one  step  beyond  the  mundane  system  you  only  excite 
an  inquisitive  humour,  which  it  is  impossible  ever  to  satisfy. 
To  say  that  the  different  ideas  which  compose  the  reason 
of  the  Supreme  Being  fall  into  order  of  themselves  and  by 
their  own  natures,  is  really  to  talk  without  any  precise  mean- 
ing. If  it  has  a  meaning,  I  would  fain  know  why  it  is  not 
as  good  sense  to  say  that  the  parts  of  the  material  world 
fall  into  order  of  themselves,  and  by  their  own  nature.  Can 
the  one  opinion  be  intelligible  while  the  other  is  not  so  ?" 
— (H.  p.  461— 4.) 

Cleanthes,  in  replying  to  Philo's  discourse,  says  that 
it  is  very  easy  to  answer  his  arguments ;  but,  as  not  un- 
frequently  happens  with  controversialists,  he  mistakes  a 
reply  for  an  answer,  when  he  declares  that — 

"  The  order  and  arrangement  of  nature,  the  curious  adjust- 
ment of  final  causes,  the  plain  use  and  intention  of  every  part 
and  organ;  all  these  bespeak  in  the  clearest  language  one 
intelligent  cause  or  author.  The  heavens  and  the  earth  join 
in  the  same  testimony.  The  whole  chorus  of  nature  raises 
one  hymn  to  the  praises  of  its  Creator." — (II.  p.  465.) 

Though  the  rhetoric  of  Cleanthes  may  be  admired,  its 
irrelevancy  to  the  point  at  issue  must  be  admitted.  Wan- 
dering still  further  into  the  region  of  declamation,  he 
works  himself  into  a  passion : 

"  You  alone,  or  almost  alone,  disturb  this  general  harmony. 
You  start  abstruse  doubts,  cavils,  and  objections :  You  ask 
me  what  is  the  cause  of  this  cause  ?  I  know  not :  I  care  not : 
that  concerns  not  me.  I  have  found  a  Deity;  and  here  I 
stop  my  inquiry.  Let  those  go  further  who  are  wiser  or 
more  enterprising." — (II.  p.  466.) 

In  other  words,  O  Cleanthes,  reasoning  having  taken 
you  as  far  as  you  want  to  go,  you  decline  to  advance  any 


viii.]  THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY.  151 

further;  even  though  you  fully  admit  that  the  very  same 
reasoning  forbids  you  to  stop  where  you  are  pleased  to 
cry  halt!  But  this  is  simply  forcing  your  reason  to 
abdicate  in  favour  of  your  caprice.  It  is  impossible  to 
imagine  that  Hume,  of  all  men  in  the  world,  could  have 
rested  satisfied  with  such  an  act  of  high-treason  against 
the  sovereignty  of  philosophy.  We  may  rather  conclude 
that  the  last  word  of  the  discussion,  which  he  gives  to 
Philo,  is  also  his  own. 

"  If  I  am  still  to  remain  in  utter  ignorance  of  causes,  and 
can  absolutely  give  an  explication  of  nothing,  I  shall  never 
esteem  it  any  advantage  to  shove  off  for  a  moment  a  diffi- 
culty, which,  you  acknowledge,  must  immediately,  in  its  full 
force,  recur  upon  me.  Naturalists,1  indeed,  very  justly  ex- 
plain particular  effects  by  more  general  causes,  though  these 
general  causes  should  remain  in  the  end  totally  inexplica- 
ble ;  but  they  never  surely  thought  it  satisfactory  to  explain 
a  particular  effect  by  a  particular  cause,  which  was  no  more 
to  be  accounted  for  than  the  effect  itself.  An  ideal  system, 
arranged  of  itself,  without  a  precedent  design,  is  not  a  whit 
more  explicable  than  a  material  one,  which  attains  its  order 
in  a  like  manner;  nor  is  there  any  more  difficulty  in  the 
latter  supposition  than  in  the  former." — (II.  p.  466.) 

It  is  obvious  that,  if  Hume  had  been  pushed,  he  must 
have  admitted  that  his  opinion  concerning  the  existence 
of  a  God,  and  of  a  certain  remote  resemblance  of  his  intel- 
lectual nature  to  that  of  man,  was  an  hypothesis  which 
might  possess  more  or  less  probability,  but  was  incapable 
on  his  own  principles  of  any  approach  to  demonstration. 
And  to  all  attempts  to  make  any  practical  use  of  his 
theism;  or  to  prove  the  existence  of  the  attributes  of 

1  /.  e.,  Natural  philosophers. 


162  HUME.  [Ciur. 

infinite  wisdom,  benevolence,  justice,  and  the  like,  which 
are  usually  ascribed  to  the  Deity,  by  reason,  he  opposes 
a  searching  critical  negation.1 

The  object  of  the  speech  of  the  imaginary  Epicurean 
in  the  eleventh  section  of  the  Inquiry,  entitled  Qf  a  Par- 
ticular Providence  and  of  a  Future  State,  is  to  invert  the 
argument  of  Bishop  Butler's  Analogy. 

That  famous  defence  of  theology  against  the  a  prio- 
ri scepticism  of  Freethinkers  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
who  based  their  arguments  on  the  inconsistency  of  the 
revealed  scheme  of  salvation  with  the  attributes  of  the 
Deity,  consists,  essentially,  in  conclusively  proving  that, 
from  a  moral  point  of  view,  Nature  is  at  least  as  repre- 
hensible as  orthodoxy.  If  you  tell  me,  says  Butler,  in 
effect,  that  any  part  of  revealed  religion  must  be  false 
because  it  is  inconsistent  with  the  divine  attributes  of 
justice  and  mercy ;  I  beg  leave  to  point  out  to  you,  that 
there  are  undeniable  natural  facts  which  are  fully  open  to 
the  same  objection.  Since  you  admit  that  nature  is  the 
work  of  God,  you  are  forced  to  allow  that  such  facts  are 
consistent  with  his  attributes.  Therefore,  you  must  also 
admit,  that  the  parallel  facts  in  the  scheme  of  orthodoxy 
are  also  consistent  with  them,  and  all  your  arguments  to 
the  contrary  fall  to  the  ground.  Q.E.D.  In  fact,  the  solid 
sense  of  Butler  left  the  Deism  of  the  Freethinkers  not  a 
leg  to  stand  upon.  Perhaps,  however,  he  did  not  remem- 
ber the  wise  saying  that  "A  man  seemeth  right  in  his 
own  cause,  but  another  cometh  after  and  judgeth  him." 
Hume's  Epicurean  philosopher  adopts  the  main  arguments 
of  the  Analogy,  but  unfortunately  drives  them  home  to  a 

1  Hume's  letter  to  Mure  of  Caldwell,  containing  a  criticism  of 
Leechman's  sermon  (Burton  I.  p.  163),  bears  strongly  on  this  point. 


vin.]  THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY.  1(8 

conclusion  of  which  the  good  Bishop  would  hardly  hav« 
approved. 

"  I  deny  a  Providence,  you  say,  and  supreme  governor  of 
the  world,  who  guides  the  course  of  events,  and  punishes  the 
vicious  with  infamy  and  disappointment,  and  rewards  th« 
virtuous  with  honour  and  success  in  all  their  undertakings. 
But  surely  I  deny  not  the  course  itself  of  events,  which  lies 
open  to  every  one's  inquiry  and  examination.  I  acknowledge 
that,  in  the  present  order  of  things,  virtue  is  attended  with 
more  peace  of  mind  than  vice,  and  meets  with  a  more  favour- 
able reception  from  the  world.  I  am  sensible  that,  according 
to  the  past  experience  of  mankind,  friendship  is  the  chief  joy 
of  human  life,  and  moderation  the  only  source  of  tranquillity 
and  happiness.  I  never  balance  between  the  virtuous  and  the 
vicious  course  of  life ;  but  am  sensible  that,  to  a  well-disposed 
mind,  every  advantage  is  on  the  side  of  the  former.  And 
what  can  you  say  more,  allowing  all  your  suppositions  and 
reasonings  ?  You  tell  me,  indeed,  that  this  disposition  of 
things  proceeds  from  intelligence  and  design.  But,  what- 
ever it  proceeds  from,  the  disposition  itself,  on  which  depends 
our  happiness  and  misery,  and  consequently  our  conduct  and 
deportment  in  life,  is  still  the  same.  It  is  still  open  for  me, 
as  well  as  you,  to  regulate  my  behaviour  by  my  experience 
of  past  events.  And  if  you  affirm  that,  while  a  divine  prov- 
idence is  allowed,  and  a  supreme  distributive  justice  in  the 
universe,  I  ought  to  expect  some  more  particular  reward  of 
the  good,  and  punishment  of  the  bad,  beyond  the  ordinary 
course  of  events,  I  here  find  the  same  fallacy  which  I  have 
before  endeavoured  to  detect.  You  persist  in  imagining, 
that  if  we  grant  that  divine  existence  for  which  you  so  ear- 
nestly contend,  you  may  safely  infer  consequences  from  it, 
and  add  something  to  the  experienced  order  of  nature,  by 
arguing  from  the  attributes  which  you  ascribe  to  your  gods. 
You  seem  not  to  remember  that  all  your  reasonings  on  this 
subject  can  only  be  drawn  from  effects  to  causes;  and  that 
every  argument,  deduced  from  causes  to  effects,  must  of  ne- 


154  HUME.  [CHAP. 

cessity  be  a  gross  sophism,  since  it  is  impossible  for  you  to 
know  anything  of  the  cause,  but  what  you  have  antecedently 
not  inferred,  but  discovered  to  the  full,  in  the  effect. 

"  But  what  must  a  philosopher  think  of  those  vain  reason- 
ers  who,  instead  of  regarding  the  present  scene  of  things  as 
the  sole  object  of  their  contemplation,  so  far  reverse  the  whole 
course  of  nature  as  to  render  this  life  merely  a  passage  to 
something  further;  a  porch  which  leads  to  a  greater  and 
vastly  different  building;  a  prologue  which  serves  only  to 
introduce  the  piece,  and  give  it  more  grace  and  propriety  ? 
Whence,  do  you  think,  can  such  philosophers  derive  their 
idea  of  the  gods  ?  From  their  own  conceit  and  imagination 
surely.  For  if  they  derive  it  from  the  present  phenomena, 
it  would  never  point  to  anything  further,  but  must  be  exact- 
ly adjusted  to  them.  That  the  divinity  may  possibly  be  en- 
dowed with  attributes  which  we  have  never  seen  exerted, 
may  be  governed  by  principles  of  action  which  we  cannot 
discover  to  be  satisfied ;  all  this  will  freely  be  allowed.  But 
still  this  is  mere  possibility  and  hypothesis.  We  never  can 
have  reason  to  infer  any  attributes  or  any  principles  of  ac- 
tion in  him,  but  so  far  as  we  know  them  to  have  been  exert- 
ed and  satisfied. 

"Are  there  any  ma/rTcs  of  a  distributive  justice  in  the  world  f 
If  you  answer  in  the  affirmative,  I  conclude  that,  since  justice 
here  exerts  itself,  it  is  satisfied.  If  you  reply  in  the  negative, 
I  conclude  that  you  have  then  no  reason  to  ascribe  justice,  in 
our  sense  of  it,  to  the  gods.  If  you  hold  a  medium  between 
affirmation  and  negation,  by  saying  that  the  justice  of  the 
gods  at  present  exerts  itself  in  part,  but  not  in  its  full  extent, 
I  answer  that  you  have  no  reason  to  give  it  any  particular 
extent,  but  only  so  far  as  you  see  it,  at  present,  exert  itself." 
—(IV.  p.  164— 6.) 

Thus,  the  Freethinkers  said,  the  attributes  of  the  Deity 
being  what  they  are,  the  scheme  of  orthodoxy  is  inconsist- 
ent with  them ;  whereupon  Butler  gave  the  crushing  re- 


vnt]  THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY.  155 

ply :  Agreeing  with  you  as  to  the  attributes  of  the  Deity, 
nature,  by  its  existence,  proves  that  the  things  to  which 
you  object  are  quite  consistent  with  them.  To  whom  en- 
ters Hume's  Epicurean  with  the  remark :  Then,  as  nature 
is  our  only  measure  of  the  attributes  of  the  Deity  in  their 
practical  manifestation,  what  warranty  is  there  for  suppos- 
ing that  such  measure  is  anywhere  transcended  ?  That  the 
"  other  side  "  of  nature,  if  there  be  one,  is  governed  on  dif- 
ferent principles  from  this  side  ? 

Truly  on  this  topic  silence  is  golden ;  while  speech 
reaches  not  even  the  dignity  of  sounding  brass  or  tinkling 
cymbal,  and  is  but  the  weary  clatter  of  an  endless  logoma- 
chy. One  can  but  suspect  that  Hume  also  had  reached 
this  conviction ;  and  that  his  shadowy  and  inconsistent 
theism  was  the  expression  of  his  desire  to  rest  in  a  state 
of  mind  which  distinctly  excluded  negation,  while  it  in- 
cluded as  little  as  possible  of  affirmation,  respecting  a  prob- 
lem which  he  felt  to  be  hopelessly  insoluble. 

But,  whatever  might  be  the  views  of  the  philosopher  as 
to  the  arguments  for  theism,  the  historian  could  have  no 
doubt  respecting  its  many-shaped  existence,  and  the  great 
part  which  it  has  played  in  the  world.  Here,  then,  was  a 
body  of  natural  facts  to  be  investigated  scientifically,  and 
the  result  of  Hume's  inquiries  is  embodied  in  the  remark- 
able essay  on  the  Natural  History  of  Religion.  Hume  an- 
ticipated the  results  of  modern  investigation  in  declaring 
fetishism  and  polytheism  to  be  the  form  in  which  savage 
and  ignorant  men  naturally  clothe  their  ideas  of  the  un- 
known influences  which  govern  their  destiny;  and  they 
are  polytheists  rather  than  monotheists  because, — 

"...  the  first  ideas  of  religion  arose,  not  from  a  contem- 
plation of  the  works  of  nature,  but  from  a  concern  with  re- 
gard to  the  events  of  life,  and  from  the  incessant  hopes  and 


166  HUME.  four. 

fears  which  actuate  the  human  mind  ...  in  order  to  carry 
men's  attention  beyond  the  present  course  of  things,  or  lead 
them  into  any  inference  concerning  invisible  intelligent  pow- 
er, they  must  be  actuated  by  some  passion  which  prompts 
their  thought  and  reflection,  some  motive  which  urges  their 
first  inquiry.  But  what  passion  shall  we  have  recourse  to 
for  explaining  an  effect  of  such  mighty  consequence  ?  Not 
speculative  curiosity  merely,  or  the  pure  love  of  truth.  That 
motive  is  too  refined  for  such  gross  apprehensions,  and  would 
lead  men  into  inquiries  concerning  the  frame  of  nature,  a  sub- 
ject too  large  and  comprehensive  for  their  narrow  capacities. 
No  passions,  therefore,  can  be  supposed  to  work  on  such  bar- 
barians, but  the  ordinary  affections  of  human  life ;  the  anx- 
ious concern  for  happiness,  the  dread  of  future  misery,  the 
terror  of  death,  the  thirst  of  revenge,  the  appetite  for  food, 
and  other  necessaries.  Agitated  by  hopes  and  fears  of  this 
nature,  especially  the  latter,  men  scrutinize,  with  a  trembling 
curiosity,  the  course  of  future  causes,  and  examine  the  vari- 
ous and  contrary  events  of  human  life.  And  in  this  disor- 
dered scene,  with  eyes  still  more  disordered  and  astonished, 
they  see  the  first  obscure  traces  of  divinity." — (IV.  pp.  443,4.) 

The  shape  assumed  by  these  first  traces  of  divinity  is 
that  of  the  shadows  of  men's  own  minds,  projected  out  of 
themselves  by  their  imaginations : — 

"There  is  an  universal  tendency  among  mankind  to  con- 
ceive all  beings  like  themselves,  and  to  transfer  to  every  ob- 
ject those  qualities  with  which  they  are  familiarly  acquaint- 
ed, and  of  which  they  are  intimately  conscious.  .  .  .  The  un- 
Tcnown  causes  which  continually  employ  their  thought,  appear- 
ing always  in  the  same  aspect,  are  all  apprehended  to  be  of 
the  same  kind  or  species.  Nor  is  it  long  before  we  ascribe 
to  them  thought,  and  reason,  and  passion,  and  sometimes 
even  the  limbs  and  figures  of  men,  in  order  to  bring  them 
nearer  to  a  resemblance  with  ourselves." — (TV.  p.  446 — 7.) 


Tin.]  THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY.  157 

Hume  asks  whether  polytheism  really  deserves  the  name 
of  theism. 

"  Our  ancestors  in  Europe,  before  the  revival  of  letters,  be- 
lieved as  we  do  at  present,  that  there  was  one  supreme  God, 
the  author  of  nature,  whose  power,  though  in  itself  uncon- 
trollable, was  yet  often  exerted  by  the  interposition  of  his 
angels  and  subordinate  ministers,  who  executed  his  sacred 
purposes.  But  they  also  believed  that  all  nature  was  full  of 
other  invisible  powers :  fairies,  goblins,  elves,  sprights;  beings 
stronger  and  mightier  than  men,  but  much  inferior  to  the  ce- 
lestial natures  who  surround  the  throne  of  God.  Now,  sup- 
pose that  any  one,  in  these  ages,  had  denied  the  existence  of 
God  and  of  his  angels,  would  not  his  impiety  justly  have  de- 
served the  appellation  of  atheism,  even  though  he  had  still 
allowed,  by  some  odd  capricious  reasoning,  that  the  popular 
stories  of  elves  and  fairies  were  just  and  well  grounded  ? 
The  difference,  on  the  one  hand,  between  such  a  person  and 
a  genuine  theist,  is  infinitely  greater  than  that,  on  the  other, 
between  him  and  one  that  absolutely  excludes  all  invisible 
intelligent  power.  And  it  is  a  fallacy,  merely  from  the  casual 
resemblance  of  names,  without  any  conformity  of  meaning, 
to  rank  such  opposite  opinions  under  the  same  denomination. 

"  To  any  one  who  considers  justly  of  the  matter,  it  will  ap- 
pear that  the  gods  of  the  polytheists  are  no  better  than  the 
elves  and  fairies  of  our  ancestors,  and  merit  as  little  as  any 
pious  worship  and  veneration.  These  pretended  religionists 
are  really  a  kind  of  superstitious  atheists,  and  acknowledge 
no  being  that  corresponds  to  our  idea  of  a  Deity.  No  first 
principle  of  mind  or  thought;  no  supreme  government  and 
administration;  no  divine  contrivance  or  intention  in  the 
fabric  of  the  world."— (IV.  p.  450—51.) 

The  doctrine  that  you  may  call  an  atheist  anybody 
whose  ideas  about  the  Deity  do  not  correspond  with  ycur 
own,  is  so  largely  acted  upon  by  persons  who  are  certainly 


108  HUME.  [CHAP. 

not  of  Hume's  way  of  thinking,  and  probably,  so  far  from 
having  read  him,  would  shudder  to  open  any  book  bearing 
his  name,  except  the  History  of  England,  that  it  is  sur- 
prising to  trace  the  theory  of  their  practice  to  such  a 
source. 

But  on  thinking  the  matter  over,  this  theory  seems  so 
consonant  with  reason,  that  one  feels  ashamed  of  having 
suspected  many  excellent  persons  of  being  moved  by  mere 
malice  and  viciousness  of  temper  to  call  other  folks  athe- 
ists, when,  after  all,  they  have  been  obeying  a  purely  in- 
tellectual sense  of  fitness.  As  Hume  says,  truly  enough,  it 
is  a  mere  fallacy,  because  two  people  use  the  same  names 
for  things,  the  ideas  of  which  are  mutually  exclusive,  to 
rank  such  opposite  opinions  under  the  same  denomina- 
tion. If  the  Jew  says  that  the  Deity  is  absolute  unity, 
and  that  it  is  sheer  blasphemy  to  say  that  He  ever  be- 
came incarnate  in  the  person  of  a  man  ;  and  if  the  Trini- 
tarian says  that  the  Deity  is  numerically  three  as  well  as 
numerically  one,  and  that  it  is  sheer  blasphemy  to  say  that 
He  did  not  so  become  incarnate,  it  is  obvious  enough  that 
each  must  be  logically  held  to  deny  the  existence  of  the 
other's  Deity.  Therefore,  that  each  has  a  scientific  right 
to  call  the  other  an  atheist ;  and  that,  if  he  refrains,  it  is 
only  on  the  ground  of  decency  and  good  manners,  which 
should  restrain  an  honourable  man  from  employing  even 
scientifically  justifiable  language,  if  custom  has  given  it  an 
abusive  connotation.  While  one  must  agree  with  Hume, 
then,  it  is,  nevertheless,  to  be  wished  that  he  had  not  set 
the  bad  example  of  calling  polytheists  "  superstitious  athe- 
ists." It  probably  did  not  occur  to  him  that,  by  a  parity 
of  reasoning,  the  Unitarians  might  justify  the  application 
of  the  same  language  to  the  Ultramontanes,  and  vice  versA. 
But,  to  return  from  a  digression  which  may  not  be  whol- 


Yin.]  THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY.  169 

ly  unprofitable,  Hume  proceeds  to  show  in  what  manner 
polytheism  incorporated  physical  and  moral  allegories,  and 
naturally  accepted  hero-worship;  and  he  sums  up  his 
views  of  the  first  stages  of  the  evolution  of  theology  as 
follows : — 

"These  then  are  the  general  principles  of  polytheism, 
founded  in  human  nature,  and  little  or  nothing  dependent 
on  caprice  or  accident.  As  the  causes  which  bestow  happi- 
ness or  misery  are  in  general  very  little  known  and  very  un- 
certain, our  anxious  concern  endeavours  to  attain  a  determi- 
nate idea  of  them :  and  finds  no  better  expedient  than  to 
represent  them  as  intelligent,  voluntary  agents,  like  our- 
selves, only  somewhat  superior  in  power  and  wisdom.  The 
limited  influence  of  these  agents,  and  their  proximity  to  hu- 
man weakness,  introduce  the  various  distribution  and  divis- 
ion of  their  authority,  and  thereby  give  rise  to  allegory. 
The  same  principles  naturally  deify  mortals,  superior  in  pow- 
er, courage,  or  understanding,  and  produce  hero-worship; 
together  with  fabulous  history  and  mythological  tradition, 
in  all  its  wild  and  unaccountable  forms.  And  as  an  invisi- 
ble spiritual  intelligence  is  an  object  too  refined  for  vulgar 
apprehension,  men  naturally  affix  it  to  some  sensible  repre- 
sentation ;  such  as  either  the  more  conspicuous  parts  of  nat- 
ure, or  the  statues,  images,  and  pictures,  which  a  more  re- 
fined age  forms  of  its  divinities." — (IV.  p.  461.) 

How  did  the  further  stage  of  theology,  monotheism, 
arise  out  of  polytheism?  Hume  replies,  certainly  not 
by  reasonings  from  first  causes  or  any  sort  of  fine-drawn 
logic : — 

"  Even  at  this  day,  and  in  Europe,  ask  any  of  the  vulgar 
why  he  believes  in  an  Omnipotent  Creator  of  the  world,  he 
will  never  mention  the  beauty  of  final  causes,  of  which  he  is 
wholly  ignorant :  He  will  not  hold  out  his  hand  and  bid  you 
contemplate  the  suppleness  and  variety  of  joints  in  his  fin- 


160  HUME.  [CHAP. 

gers,  their  bending  all  one  way,  the  counterpoise  which  they 
receive  from  the  thumb,  the  softness  and  fleshy  parts  of  the 
inside  of  the  hand,  with  all  the  other  circumstances  which 
render  that  member  fit  for  the  use  to  which  it  was  destined. 
To  these  he  has  been  long  accustomed;  and  he  beholds 
them  with  listlessness  and  unconcern.  He  will  tell  you  of 
the  sudden  and  unexpected  death  of  such-a-one;  the  fall  and 
bruise  of  such  another ;  the  excessive  drought  of  this  sea- 
son ;  the  cold  and  rains  of  another.  These  he  ascribes  to 
the  immediate  operation  of  Providence :  And  such  events 
as,  with  good  reasoners,  are  the  chief  difficulties  in  admitting 
a  Supreme  Intelligence,  are  with  him  the  sole  arguments 
for  it.  ... 

"  We  may  conclude,  therefore,  upon  the  whole,  that  since 
the  vulgar,  in  nations  which  have  embraced  the  doctrine 
of  theism,  still  build  it  upon  irrational  and  superstitious 
grounds,  they  are  never  led  into  that  opinion  by  any  proc- 
ess of  argument,  but  by  a  certain  train  of  thinking,  more 
suitable  to  their  genius  and  capacity. 

"It  may  readily  happen,  in  an  idolatrous  nation,  that 
though  men  admit  the  existence  of  several  limited  deities, 
yet  there  is  some  one  God  whom,  in  a  particular  manner, 
they  make  the  object  of  their  worship  and  adoration.  They 
may  either  suppose  that,  in  the  distribution  of  power  and 
territory  among  the  Gods,  their  nation  was  subjected  to  the 
jurisdiction  of  that  particular  deity ;  or,  reducing  heavenly 
objects  to  the  model  of  things  below,  they  may  represent  one 
god  as  the  prince  or  supreme  magistrate  of  the  rest,  who, 
though  of  the  same  nature,  rules  them  with  an  authority  like 
that  which  an  earthly  sovereign  exerts  over  his  subjects  and 
vassals.  Whether  this  god,  therefore,  be  considered  as  their 
peculiar  patron,  or  as  the  general  sovereign  of  heaven,  his 
votaries  will  endeavour,  by  every  art,  to  insinuate  themselves 
into  his  favour;  and  supposing  him  to  be  pleased,  like  them- 
selves, with  praise  and  flattery,  there  is  no  eulogy  or  exagger- 
ation which  will  be  spared  in  their  addresses  to  him.  In 


vra.]  THEISM;  EVOLUTION  OF  THEOLOGY.  161 

proportion  as  men's  fears  or  distresses  become  more  urgent, 
they  still  invent  new  strains  of  adulation ;  and  even  he  who 
outdoes  his  predecessor  in  swelling  the  titles  of  his  divinity, 
is  sure  to  be  outdone  by  his  successor  in  newer  and  more 
pompous  epithets  of  praise.  Thus  they  proceed,  till  at  last 
they  arrive  at  infinity  itself,  beyond  which  there  is  no  further 
progress :  And  it  is  well  if,  in  striving  to  get  further,  and 
to  represent  a  magnificent  simplicity,  they  run  not  into  inex- 
plicable mystery,  and  destroy  the  intelligent  nature  of  their 
deity,  on  which  alone  any  rational  worship  or  adoration  can 
be  founded.  While  they  confine  themselves  to  the  notion 
of  a  perfect  being,  the  Creator  of  the  world,  they  coincide,  by 
chance,  with  the  principles  of  reason  and  true  philosophy; 
though  they  are  guided  to  that  notion,  not  by  reason,  of 
which  they  are  in  a  great  measure  incapable,  but  by  the 
adulation  and  fears  of  the  most  vulgar  superstition. — (TV.  p. 
463—6.) 

"  Nay,  if  we  should  suppose,  what  never  happens,  that  a 
popular  religion  were  found,  in  which  it  was  expressly  de- 
clared that  nothing  but  morality  could  gain  the  divine  fa- 
vour ;  if  an  order  of  priests  were  instituted  to  inculcate  this 
opinion,  in  daily  sermons,  and  with  all  the  arts  of  persua- 
sion ;  yet  so  inveterate  are  the  people's  prejudices,  that,  for 
want  of  some  other  superstition,  they  would  make  the  very 
attendance  on  these  sermons  the  essentials  of  religion,  rather 
than  place  them  in  virtue  and  good  morals.  The  sublime 
prologue  of  Zaleucus'  laws  inspired  not  the  Locrians,  so  far 
as  we  can  learn,  with  any  sounder  notions  of  the  measures 
of  acceptance  with  the  deity,  than  were  familiar  to  the  other 
Greeks."— (IV.  p.  505.) 

It  has  been  remarked  that  Hume's  writings  are  singu- 
larly devoid  of  local  colour ;  of  allusions  to  the  scenes  with 
which  he  was  familiar,  and  to  the  people  from  whom  he 
sprang.  Yet,  surely,  the  Lowlands  of  Scotland  were  more 
in  his  thoughts  than  the  Zephyrean  promontory,  and  the 


162  HUME.  [CHAP.  mi. 

hard  visage  of  John  Enox  peered  from  behind  the  mask  ot 
Zaleucus,  when  this  passage  left  his  pen.  Nay,  might  uot 
an  acute  German  critic  discern  therein  a  reminiscence  of 
that  eminently  Scottish  institution,  a  "  Holy  Fair  ?"  where, 
as  Hume's  young  contemporary  sings : — 

"  *  *  *  opens  out  his  cauld  harangues 

On  practice  and  on  morals ; 
An'  aff  the  godly  pour  in  thrangs 
To  gie  the  jars  and  barrels 
A  lift  that  day. 

"What  signifies  his  barren  shine 
Of  moral  powers  and  reason  ? 
His  English  style  and  gesture  fine 

Are  a'  clean  out  of  season, 
lake  Socrates  or  Antonine, 

Or  some  auld  pagan  heathen, 
The  moral  man  he  does  define, 
But  ne'er  a  word  o'  faith  in 

That's  right  that  day." » 

1  Burns  published  the  Holy  Fair  only  ten  years  after  Hume's 
death. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    SOUL:    THE    DOCTRINE    OF   IMMORTALITY. 

DESCARTES  taught  that  an  absolute  difference  of  kind 
separates  matter,  as  that  which  possesses  extension,  from 
spirit,  as  that  which  thinks.  They  not  only  have  no 
character  in  common,  but  it  is  inconceivable  that  they 
should  have  any.  On  the  assumption  that  the  attributes 
of  the  two  were  wholly  different,  it  appeared  to  be  a  nec- 
essary consequence  that  the  hypothetical  causes  of  these 
attributes — their  respective  substances  —  must  be  totally 
different.  Notably,  in  the  matter  of  divisibility,  since 
that  which  has  no  extension  cannot  be  divisible,  it  seem- 
ed that  the  chose  pensante,  the  soul,  must  be  an  indivisi- 
ble entity. 

Later  philosophers,  accepting  this  notion  of  the  soul, 
were  naturally  much  perplexed  to  understand  how,  if  mat- 
ter and  spirit  had  nothing  in  common,  they  could  act  and 
react  on  one  another.  All  the  changes  of  matter  being 
modes  of  motion,  the  difficulty  of  understanding  how  a 
moving  extended  material  body  was  to  affect  a  thinking 
thing  which  had  no  dimension,  was  as  great  as  that  in- 
volved in  solving  the  problem  of  how  to  hit  a  nomina- 
tive case  with  a  stick.  Hence,  the  successors  of  Descartes 
either  found  themselves  obliged,  with  the  Occasionalists, 
to  call  in  the  aid  of  the  Deity,  who  was  supposed  to  be 
8 


164  HUME.  [OLU-. 

a  sort  oi'  go-between  betwixt  matter  and  spirit ;  or  they 
had  recourse,  with  Leibnitz,  to  the  doctrine  of  pre-estab- 
lished harmony,  which  denies  any  influence  of  the  body 
on  the  soul,  or  vice  versa,  and  compared  matter  and  spirit 
to  two  clocks  so  accurately  regulated  to  keep  time  with 
one  another,  that  the  one  struck  whenever  the  other  point- 
ed to  the  hour ;  or,  with  Berkeley,  they  abolished  the 
"  substance  "  of  matter  altogether,  as  a  superfluity,  though 
they  failed  to  see  that  the  same  arguments  equally  justi- 
fied the  abolition  of  soul  as  another  superfluity,  and  the 
reduction  of  the  universe  to  a  series  of  events  or  phenom- 
ena ;  or,  finally,  with  Spinoza,  to  whom  Berkeley  makes  a 
perilously  close  approach,  they  asserted  the  existence  of 
only  one  substance,  with  two  chief  attributes,  the  one 
thought,  and  the  other  extension. 

There  remained  only  one  possible  position,  which,  had 
it  been  taken  up  earlier,  might  have  saved  an  immensity 
of  trouble;  and  that  was  to  affirm  that  we  do  not,  and 
cannot,  know  anything  about  the  "  substance "  either  of 
the  thinking  thing  or  of  the  extended  thing.  And 
Hume's  sound  common  sense  led  him  to  defend  this 
thesis,  which  Locke  had  already  foreshadowed,  with  re- 
spect to  the  question  of  the  substance  of  the  soul.  Hume 
enunciates  two  opinions.  The  first  is  that  the  question 
itself  is  unintelligible,  and  therefore  cannot  receive  any 
answer ;  the  second  is  that  the  popular  doctrine  respect- 
ing the  immateriality,  simplicity,  and  indivisibility  of  a 
thinking  substance  is  a  "true  atheism,  and  will  serve  to 
justify  all  those  sentiments  for  which  Spinoza  is  so  uni- 
versally infamous." 

In  support  of  the  first  opinion,  Hume  points  out  that 
it  is  impossible  to  attach  any  definite  meaning  to  the 
word  "substance"  when  employed  for  the  hypothetical 


IX]      THE  SOUL:  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  IMMORTALITY.      165 

substratum  of  soul  and  matter.  For  if  we  define  sub- 
stance as  that  which  may  exist  by  itself,  the  definition 
does  not  distinguish  the  soul  from  perceptions.  It  is 
perfectly  easy  to  conceive  that  states  of  consciousness  are 
self-subsistent.  And,  if  the  substance  of  the  soul  is  de- 
fined as  that  in  which  perceptions  inhere,  what  is  meant 
by  the  inherence?  Is  such  inherence  conceivable?  If 
conceivable,  what  evidence  is  there  of  it?  And  what  is 
the  use  of  a  substratum  to  things  which,  for  anything  we 
know  to  the  contrary,  are  capable  of  existing  by  them- 
selves ? 

Moreover,  it  may  be  added,  supposing  the  soul  has  a 
substance,  how  do  we  know  that  it  is  different  from  the 
substance,  which,  on  like  grounds,  must  be  supposed  to 
underlie  the  qualities  of  matter? 

Again,  if  it  be  said  that  our  personal  identity  requires 
the  assumption  of  a  substance  which  remains  the  same 
while  the  accidents  of  perception  shift  and  change,  the 
question  arises  what  is  meant  by  personal  identity  ? 

"  For  my  part,"  says  Hume,  "  when  I  enter  most  intimate- 
ly into  what  I  call  myself,  I  always  stumble  on  some  particu- 
lar perception  or  other,  of  heat  or  cold,  light  or  shade,  love 
or  hatred,  pain  or  pleasure.  I  never  can  catch  myself  at  any 
time  without  a  perception,  and  never  can  observe  anything 
but  the  perception.  When  my  perceptions  are  removed  for 
any  time,  as  by  sound  sleep,  so  long  am  I  insensible  of  my- 
self, and  may  be  truly  said  not  to  exist.  And  were  all  my 
perceptions  removed  by  death,  and  I  could  neither  think, 
nor  feel,  nor  see,  nor  love,  nor  hate,  after  the  dissolution  of 
my  body,  I  should  be  entirely  annihilated,  nor  do  I  conceive 
what  is  further  requisite  to  make  me  a  perfect  nonentity. 
If  any  one,  upon  serious  and  unprejudiced  reflection,  thinks 
he  has  a  different  notion  of  himself,  I  must  confess  I  can  rea- 
son no  longer  with  him.  All  I  can  allow  him  is,  that  he 


1W  HUME.  [CHAP. 

may  be  in  the  right  as  well  as  I,  and  that  we  are  essentially 
different  in  this  particular.  He  may  perhaps  perceive  some- 
thing simple  and  continued  which  he  calls  himself,  though 
I  am  certain  there  is  no  such  principle  in  me. 

"  But  setting  aside  some  metaphysicians  of  this  kind,  I 
may  venture  to  affirm  of  the  rest  of  mankind,  that  they  are 
nothing  but  a  bundle  or  collection  of  different  perceptions, 
which  succeed  one  another  with  an  inconceivable  rapidity, 
and  are  in  a  perpetual  flux  and  movement.  .  .  .  The  mind 
is  a  kind  of  theatre,  where  several  perceptions  successively 
make  their  appearance,  pass,  repass,  glide  away,  and  mingle 
in  an  infinite  variety  of  postures  and  situations.  There  is 
properly  no  simplicity  in  *.t  at  one  time,  nor  identity  in  dif- 
ferent, whatever  natural  propension  we  may  have  to  imagine 
that  simplicity  and  identity.  The  comparison  of  the  theatre 
must  not  mislead  us.  They  are  the  successive  perceptions 
only  that  constitute  the  mind ;  nor  have  we  the  most  distant 
notion  of  the  place  where  these  scenes  are  represented,  or  of 
the  materials  of  which  it  is  composed. 

"What  then  gives  so  great  a  propension  to  ascribe  an 
identity  to  these  successive  perceptions,  and  to  suppose  our- 
selves possessed  of  an  invariable  and  uninterrupted  existence 
through  the  whole  course  of  our  lives  ?  In  order  to  answer 
this  question,  we  must  distinguish  between  personal  identity 
as  it  regards  our  thought  and  imagination,  and  as  it  regards 
our  passions,  or  the  concern  we  take  in  ourselves.  The  first 
is  our  present  subject ;  and  to  explain  it  perfectly  we  must 
take  the  matter  pretty  deep,  and  account  for  that  identity 
which  we  attribute  to  plants  and  animals,  there  being  a 
great  analogy  betwixt  it  and  the  identity  of  a  self  or  per- 
son."—(I.  p.  321,  322.) 

Perfect  identity  is  exhibited  by  an  object  which  remains 
unchanged  throughout  a  certain  time;  perfect  diversity 
is  seen  in  two  or  more  objects  which  are  separated  by  in- 
tervals of  space  and  periods  of  time.  But  in  both  these 


tt.]      THE  SOtJL :   THE  DOCTRINE  OF  IMMORTALITY.      167 

cases  there  is  no  sharp  line  of  demarcation  between  iden- 
tity and  diversity,  and  it  is  impossible  to  say  when  an 
object  ceases  to  be  one  and  becomes  two. 

When  a  sea-anemone  multiplies  by  division,  there  is  a 
time  during  which  it  is  said  to  be  one  animal  partially  di- 
vided ;  but,  after  a  while,  it  becomes  two  animals  adherent 
together,  and  the  limit  between  these  conditions  is  purely 
arbitrary.  So  in  mineralogy,  a  crystal  of  a  definite  chem- 
ical composition  may  have  its  substance  replaced,  particle 
by  particle,  by  another  chemical  compound.  When  does 
it  lose  its  primitive  identity  and  become  a  new  thing  ? 

Again,  a  plant  or  an  animal,  in  the  course  of  its  exist- 
ence, from  the  condition  of  an  egg  or  seed  to  the  end  of 
life,  remains  the  same  neither  in  form,  nor  in  structure, 
nor  in  the  matter  of  which  it  is  composed :  every  attribute 
it  possesses  is  constantly  changing,  and  yet  we  say  that 
it  is  always  one  and  the  same  individual.  And  if,  in  this 
case,  we  attribute  identity  without  supposing  an  indivisi- 
ble immaterial  something  to  underlie  and  condition  that 
identity,  why  should  we  need  the  supposition  in  the  case 
of  that  succession  of  changeful  phenomena  we  call  the 
mind? 

In  fact,  we  ascribe  identity  to  an  individual  plant  or 
animal,  simply  because  there  has  been  no  moment  of  time 
at  which  we  could  observe  any  division  of  it  into  parts 
separated  by  time  or  space.  Every  experience  we  have  of 
it  is  as  one  thing  and  not  as  two ;  and  we  sum  up  our  ex- 
periences in  the  ascription  of  identity,  although  we  know 
quite  well  that,  strictly  speaking,  it  has  not  been  the  same 
for  any  two  moments. 

So  with  the  mind.  Our  perceptions  flow  in  even  suc- 
cession ;  the  impressions  of  the  present  moment  are  inex- 
tricably mixed  up  with  the  memories  of  yesterday  and 


168  HUME.  [CHAP. 

the  expectations  of  to-morrow,  and  all  are  connected  by 
the  links  of  cause  and  effect. 


"...  as  the  same  individual  republic  may  not  only  change 
its  members,  but  also  its  laws  and  constitutions ;  in  like  man- 
ner the  same  person  may  vary  his  character  and  disposition, 
as  well  as  his  impressions  and  ideas,  without  losing  his  iden- 
tity. Whatever  changes  he  endures,  his  several  parts  are  still 
connected  by  the  relation  of  causation.  And  in  this  view 
our  identity  with  regard  to  the  passions  serves  to  corrobo- 
rate that  with  regard  to  the  imagination,  by  the  making  our 
distant  perceptions  influence  each  other,  and  by  giving  us  a 
present  concern  for  our  past  or  future  pains  or  pleasures. 

"As  memory  alone  acquaints  us  with  the  continuance  and 
extent  of  this  succession  of  perceptions,  'tis  to  be  considered, 
upon  that  account  chiefly,  as  the  source  of  personal  identity. 
Had  we  no  memory  we  never  should  have  any  notion  of  cau- 
sation, nor  consequently  of  that  chain  of  causes  and  effects 
which  constitute  our  self  or  person.  But  having  once  ac- 
quired this  notion  of  causation  from  the  memory,  we  can  ex- 
tend the  same  chain  of  causes,  and  consequently  the  identi- 
ty of  our  persons,  beyond  our  memory,  and  can  comprehend 
times,  and  circumstances,  and  actions,  which  we  have  entire- 
ly forgot,  but  suppose  in  general  to  have  existed.  For  how 
few  of  our  past  actions  are  there  of  which  we  have  any  mem- 
ory ?  Who  can  tell  me,  for  instance,  what  were  his  thoughts 
and  actions  on  the  first  of  January,  1715,  the  eleventh  of 
March,  1719,  and  the  third  of  August,  1733  ?  Or  will  he  af- 
firm, because  he  has  entirely  forgot  the  incidents  of  those 
days,  that  the  present  self  is  not  the  same  person  with  the 
self  of  that  time,  and  by  that  means  overturn  all  the  most 
established  notions  of  personal  identity?  In  this  view, 
therefore,  memory  does  not  so  much  produce  as  discover  per- 
sonal identity,  by  showing  us  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect 
among  our  different  perceptions.  'Twill  be  incumbent  on 
those  who  affirm  that  memory  produces  entirely  our  person- 


it]      THE  SOUL:  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  IMMORTALITY.      169 

al  identity,  to  give  a  reason  why  we  can  thus  extend  our 
identity  beyond  our  memory. 

"  The  whole  of  this  doctrine  leads  us  to  a  conclusion  which 
is  of  great  importance  in  the  present  affair,  viz.,  that  all  the 
nice  and  subtle  questions  concerning  personal  identity  can 
never  possibly  be  decided,  and  are  to  be  regarded  rather  as 
grammatical  than  as  philosophical  difficulties.  Identity  de- 
pends on  the  relations  of  ideas,  and  these  relations  produce 
identity  by  means  of  that  easy  transition  they  occasion.  But 
as  the  relations,  and  the  easiness  of  the  transition  may  dimin- 
ish by  insensible  degrees,  we  have  no  just  standard  by  which 
we  can  decide  any  dispute  concerning  the  time  when  they 
acquire  or  lose  a  title  to  the  name  of  identity.  All  the  dis- 
putes concerning  the  identity  of  connected  objects  are  mere- 
ly verbal,  except  so  far  as  the  relation  of  parts  gives  rise  to 
some  fiction  or  imaginary  principle  of  union,  as  we  have  al- 
ready observed. 

"What  I  have  said  concerning  the  first  origin  and  uncer- 
tainty of  our  notion  of  identity,  as  applied  to  the  human 
mind,  may  be  extended,  with  little  or  no  variation,  to  that  of 
simplicity.  An  object,  whose  different  co-existent  parts  are 
bound  together  by  a  close  relation,  operates  upon  the  imag- 
ination after  much  the  same  manner  as  one  perfectly  simple 
and  undivisible,  and  requires  not  a  much  greater  stretch  of 
thought  in  order  to  its  conception.  From  this  similarity  of 
operation  we  attribute  a  simplicity  to  it,  and  feign  a  prin- 
ciple of  union  as  the  support  of  this  simplicity,  and  the  cen- 
tre of  all  the  different  parts  and  qualities  of  the  object." — 
(I.  p.  331—3.) 

The  final  result  of  Hume's  reasoning  comes  to  this :  As 
we  use  the  name  of  body  for  the  sum  of  the  phenomena 
which  make  up  our  corporeal  existence,  so  we  employ  the 
name  of  soul  for  the  sum  of  the  phenomena  which  consti- 
tute our  mental  existence ;  and  we  have  no  more  reason, 
in  the  latter  case,  than  in  the  former,  to  suppose  that  there 


170  HUME.  [CHAP. 

is  anything  beyond  the  phenomena  which  answers  to  the 
name.  In  the  case  of  the  soul,  as  in  that  of  the  body, 
the  idea  of  substance  is  a  mere  fiction  of  the  imagination. 
This  conclusion  is  nothing  but  a  rigorous  application  of 
Berkeley's  reasoning  concerning  matter  to  mind,  and  it  is 
fully  adopted  by  Kant.1 

Having  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  the  conception  of 
a  soul,  as  a  substantive  thing,  is  a  mere  figment  of  the  im- 
agination ;  and  that,  whether  it  exists  or  not,  we  can  by  no 
possibility  know  anything  about  it,  the  inquiry  as  to  the 
durability  of  the  soul  may  seem  superfluous. 

Nevertheless,  there  is  still  a  sense  in  which,  even  under 
these  conditions,  such  an  inquiry  is  justifiable.  Leaving 
aside  the  problem  of  the  substance  of  the  soul,  and  taking 
the  word  "  soul "  simply  as  a  name  for  the  series  of  men- 
tal phenomena  which  make  up  an  individual  mind ;  it  re- 
mains open  to  us  to  ask  whether  that  series  commenced 
with,  or  before,  the  series  of  phenomena  which  constitute 
the  corresponding  individual  body ;  and  whether  it  termi- 
nates with  the  end  of  the  corporeal  series,  or  goes  on  af- 
ter the  existence  of  the  body  has  ended.  And  in  both 
cases  there  arises  the  further  question,  whether  the  excess 
of  duration  of  the  mental  series  over  that  of  the  body  is 
finite  or  infinite. 

Hume  has  discussed  some  of  these  questions  in  the  re- 
markable essay  On  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul,  which 
was  not  published  till  after  his  death,  and  which  seems 
long  to  have  remained  but  little  known.  Nevertheless, 

1  "  Our  internal  intuition  shows  no  permanent  existence,  for  the 
Ego  is  only  the  consciousness  of  my  thinking."  "  There  is  no  means 
whatever  by  which  we  can  learn  anything  respecting  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  soul,  so  far  as  regards  the  possibility  of  its  separate  e* 
iatence." — Krtiik  von  den  Paralogismen,  der  reinen  Vemunft, 


ix]      THE  SOUL:  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  IMMORTALITY.      171 

indeed,  possibly,  for  that  reason,  its  influence  has  been 
manifested  in  unexpected  quarters,  and  its  main  argu- 
ments have  been  adduced  by  archiepiscopal  and  episcopal 
authority  in  evidence  of  the  value  of  revelation.  Dr. 
Whately,1  sometime  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  paraphrases 
JIume,  though  he  forgets  to  cite  him ;  and  Bishop  Cour- 
tenay's  elaborate  work,"  dedicated  to  the  Archbishop,  is  a 
development  of  that  prelate's  version  of  Hume's  essay. 

This  little  paper  occupies  only  some  ten  pages,  but  it 
is  not  wonderful  that  it  attracted  an  acute  logician  like 
Whately,  for  it  is  a  model  of  clear  and  vigorous  state- 
ment. The  argument  hardly  admits  of  condensation,  so 
that  I  must  let  Hume  speak  for  himself : — 

"  By  the  mere  light  of  reason  it  seems  difficult  to  prove 
the  immortality  of  the  soul :  the  arguments  for  it  are  com- 
monly derived  either  from  metaphysical  topics,  or  moral,  or 
physical.  But  in  reality  it  is  the  gospel,  and  the  gospel 
alone,  that  has  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light." ' 

''  1.  Metaphysical  topics  suppose  that  the  soul  is  immateri- 
al, and  that  'tis  impossible  for  thought  to  belong  to  a  mate- 
rial substance.4  But  just  metaphysics  teach  us  that  the  no- 

1  Essays  on  Some  of  the  Peculiarities  of  the  Christian  Religion  (Es- 
say I.  Revelation  of  a  Future  State),  by  Richard  Whately,  D.D.,  Arch- 
bishop of  Dublin.     Fifth  Edition,  revised,  1846. 

2  The  Future  States:  their  Evidences  and  Nature;  considered  on 
Principles  Physical,  Moral,  and  Scriptural,  with  the  Design  of  showing 
the  Value  of  the  Gospel  Revelation,  by  the  Right  Rev.  Reginald  Oourte- 
nay,  D.D.,  Lord  Bishop  of  Kingston  (Jamaica),  1867. 

3  "  Now  that '  Jesus  Christ  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light 
through  the  Gospel,'  and  that  in  the  most  literal  sense,  which  im- 
plies that  the  revelation  of  the  doctrine  is  peculiar  to  his  Gospel, 
seems  to  be  at  least  the  most  obvious  meaning  of  the  Scriptures  of 
the  New  Testament." — Whately,  I.e.  p.  2*7. 

4  Compare,  Of  the  Immateriality  of  the  Soul,  Section  V.  of  Part 

M       a* 


172  HUME.  .  [CHAP. 

tion  of  substance  is  wholly  confused  and  imperfect ;  and  that 
we  have  no  other  idea  of  any  substance,  than  as  an  aggre- 
gate of  particular  qualities  inhering  in  an  unknown  some- 
thing. Matter,  therefore,  and  spirit,  are  at  bottom  equally 
unknown,  and  we  cannot  determine  what  qualities  inhere  in 
the  one  or  in  the  other.1  They  likewise  teach  us  that  noth- 
ing can  be  decided  a  priori  concerning  any  cause  or  effect ; 
and  that  experience  being  the  only  source  of  our  judgments 
of  this  nature,  we  cannot  know  from  any  other  principle, 
whether  matter,  by  its  structure  or  arrangement,  may  not  be 
the  cause  of  thought.  Abstract  reasonings  cannot  decide 
any  question  of  fact  or  existence.  But  admitting  a  spiritual 
substance  to  be  dispersed  throughout  the  universe,  like  the 
ethereal  fire  of  the  Stoics,  and  to  be  the  only  inherent  subject 
of  thought,  we  have  reason  to  conclude,  from  analogy,  that 
nature  uses  it  after  the  manner  she  does  the  other  substance, 
matter.  She  employs  it  as  a  kind  of  paste  or  clay ;  modifies 
it  into  a  variety  of  forms  or  existences ;  dissolves  after  a  time 
each  modification,  and  from  its  substance  erects  a  new  form. 
As  the  same  material  substance  may  successively  compose 
the  bodies  of  all  animals,  the  same  spiritual  substance  may 
compose  their  minds :  Their  consciousness,  or  that  system  of 
thought  which  they  formed  during  life,  may  be  continually 
dissolved  by  death,  and  nothing  interests  them  in  the  new 
modification.  The  most  positive  assertors  of  the  mortality 
of  the  soul  never  denied  the  immortality  of  its  substance ; 
and  that  an  immaterial  substance,  as  well  as  a  material,  may 

IV.,  Book  I.,  of  the  Treatise,  in  which  Hume  concludes  (I.  p.  319) 
that,  whether  it  be  material  or  immaterial,  "  in  both  cases  the  meta- 
physical arguments  for  the  immortality  of  the  soul  are  equally  incon- 
clusive; and  in  both  cases  the  moral  arguments  and  those  derived 
from  the  analogy  of  nature  are  equally  strong  and  convincing." 

1  "The  question  again  respecting  the  materiality  of  the  soul  is 
one  which  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  clearly,  till  it  shall  have  been 
clearly  determined  what  matter  is.  We  know  nothing  of  it,  any  moire 
than  of  mind,  except  its  attributes." — Whately,  I.e.  p.  86. 


ix.]      THE  SOUL :  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  IMMORTALITY.       173 

lose  its  memory  or  consciousness,  appears  in  part  from  ex- 
perience, if  the  soul  be  immaterial.  Reasoning  from  the 
common  course  of  nature,  and  without  supposing  any  new 
interposition  of  the  Supreme  Cause,  which  ought  always  to 
be  excluded  from  philosophy,  what  is  incorruptible  must  also 
be  ingmerable.  The  soul,  therefore,  if  immortal,  existed  be- 
fore our  birth,  and  if  the  former  existence  noways  concerned 
us,  neither  will  the  latter.  Animals  undoubtedly  feel,  think, 
love,  hate,  will,  and  even  reason,  though  in  a  more  imperfect 
manner  than  men :  Are  their  souls  also  immaterial  and  im- 
mortal ?" » 

Hume  next  proceeds  to  consider  the  moral  arguments, 
and  chiefly 

"...  those  derived  from  the  justice  of  God,  which  is  sup- 
posed to  be  further  interested  in  the  future  punishment  of 
the  vicious  and  reward  of  the  virtuous." 

But  if  by  the  justice  of  God  we  mean  the  same  attri- 
bute which  we  call  justice  in  ourselves,  then  why  should 
either  reward  or  punishment  be  extended  beyond  this 
life  ? "  Our  sole  means  of  knowing  anything  is  the  rea- 

1  "  None  of  those  who  contend  for  the  natural  immortality  of  the 
soul  .  .  .  have  been  able  to  extricate  themselves  from  one  difficulty, 
viz.,  that  all  their  arguments  apply,  with  exactly  the  same  force,  to 
prove  an  immortality,  not  only  of  brutes,  but  even  of  plants  ;  though 
in  such  a  conclusion  as  this  they  are  never  willing  to  acquiesce." — 
Whately,  I.e.  p.  67. 

2  "  Nor  are  we  therefore  authorised  to  infer  a  priori,  independent 
of  Revelation,  a  future  state  of  retribution,  from  the  irregularities 
prevailing  in  the  present  life,  since  that   future   state  does  not 
account  fully  for  these  irregularities.     It  may  explain,  indeed,  how 
present  evil  may  be  conducive  to  future  good,  but  not  why  the  good 
could  not  be  attained  without  the  evil ;  it  may  reconcile  with  our  no- 
tions of  the  divine  justice  the  present  prosperity  of  the  wicked,  but 
it  does  not  account  for  the  existence  of  the  wicked." — Whately,  I.e. 
pp.  69, 70. 


174  HUME.  [CHAP. 

soning  faculty  which  God  has  given  us ;  and  that  reason- 
ing faculty  not  only  denies  us  any  conception  of  a  future 
state,  but  fails  to  furnish  a  single  valid  argument  in  favour 
of  the  belief  that  the  mind  will  endure  after  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  body. 

"...  If  any  purpose  of  nature  be  clear,  we  may  affirm  that 
the  -whole  scope  and  intention  of  man's  creation,  so  far  as  we 
can  judge  by  natural  reason,  is  limited  to  the  present  life." 

To  the  argument  that  the  powers  of  man  are  so  much 
greater  than  the  needs  of  this  life  require,  that  they 
suggest  a  future  scene  in  which  they  can  be  employed, 
Hume  replies : — 

"  If  the  reason  of  man  gives  him  great  superiority  above 
other  animals,  his  necessities  are  proportionably  multiplied 
upon  him;  his  whole  time,  his  whole  capacity,  activity, 
courage,  and  passion,  find  sufficient  employment  in  fencing 
against  the  miseries  of  his  present  condition;  and  frequently, 
nay,  almost  always,  are  too  slender  for  the  business  assigned 
them.  A  pair  of  shoes,  perhaps,  was  never  yet  wrought  to 
the  highest  degree  of  perfection  that  commodity  is  capable 
of  attaining;  yet  it  is  necessary,  at  least  very  useful,  that 
there  should  be  some  politicians  and  moralists,  even  some 
geometers,  poets,  and  philosophers,  among  mankind.  The 
powers  of  men  are  no  more  superior  to  their  wants,  consid- 
ered merely  in  this  life,  than  those  of  foxes  and  hares  are, 
compared  to  their  wants  and  to  their  period  of  existence. 
The  inference  from  parity  of  reason  is  therefore  obvious." 

In  short,  Hume  argues  that,  if  the  faculties  with  which 
we  are  endowed  are  unable  to  discover  a  future  state,  and 
if  the  most  attentive  consideration  of  their  nature  serves 
to  show  that  they  are  adapted  to  this  life  and  nothing 
more,  it  is  surely  inconsistent  with  any  conception  of  jus- 
tice that  we  should  be  dealt  with  as  if  we  had  all  along 


ix.]      THE  SOUL :  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  IMMORTALITY.      175 

had  a  clear  knowledge  of  the  fact  thus  carefully  concealed 
from  us.  What  should  we  think  of  the  justice  of  a  fa- 
ther who  gave  his  son  every  reason  to  suppose  that  a  triv- 
ial fault  would  only  be  visited  by  a  box  on  the  ear ;  and 
then,  years  afterwards,  put  him  on  the  rack  for  a  week  for 
the  same  fault  ? 

Again,  the  suggestion  arises,  if  God  is  the  cause  of  all 
things,  he  is  responsible  for  evil  as  well  as  for  good ;  and 
it  appears  utterly  irreconcilable  with  our  notions  of  justice 
that  he  should  punish  another  for  that  which  he  has,  in 
fact,  done  himself.  Moreover,  just  punishment  bears  a 
proportion  to  the  offence,  while  suffering  which  is  infinite 
is  ipso  facto  disproportionate  to  any  finite  deed. 

"  Why  then  eternal  punishment  for  the  temporary  offences 
of  so  frail  a  creature  as  man  ?  Can  any  one  approve  of  Al- 
exander's rage,  who  intended  to  exterminate  a  whole  nation 
because  they  had  seized  his  favourite  horse  Bucephalus  ? 

"  Heaven  and  hell  suppose  two  distinct  species  of  men,  the 
good  and  the  bad ;  but  the  greatest  part  of  mankind  float 
betwixt  vice  and  virtue.  Were  one  to  go  round  the  world 
with  the  intention  of  giving  a  good  supper  to  the  righteous 
and  a  sound  drubbing  to  the  wicked,  he  would  frequently  be 
embarrassed  in  his  choice,  and  would  find  the  merits  and  de- 
merits of  most  men  and  women  scarcely  amount  to  the  value 
of  either." l 

1  "  So  reason  also  shows,  that  for  man  to  expect  to  earn  for  him- 
self by  the  practice  of  virtue,  and  claim,  as  his  just  right,  an  immor- 
tality of  exalted  happiness,  is  a  most  extravagant  and  groundless 
pretension." — Whately,  I.e.  p.  101.  On  the  other  hand,  however,  the 
Archbishop  sees  no  unreasonableness  in  a  man's  earning  for  himself 
an  immortality  of  intense  unhappiness  by  the  practice  of  vice.  So 
that  life  is,  naturally,  a  venture  in  which  you  may  lose  all,  but  can 
earn  nothing.  It  may  be  thought  somewhat  hard  upon  mankind  if 
they  are  pushed  into  a  speculation  of  this  sort,  willy-nilly. 


1Y«  HUME.  [CHAT. 

One  can  but  admire  the  broad  humanity  and  the  in- 
sight into  the  springs  of  action  manifest  in  -this  passage. 
Comprendre  est  a  moitie  pardonner.  The  more  one  knows 
of  the  real  conditions  which  determine  men's  acts,  the  less 
one  finds  either  to  praise  or  blame.  For  kindly  David 
Hume, "  the  damnation  of  one  man  is  an  infinitely  great- 
er evil  in  the  universe  than  the  subversion  of  a  thousand 
million  of  kingdoms."  And  he  would  have  felt  with  his 
countryman  Burns,  that  even  "  auld  Nickie  Ben  "  should 
"  hae  a  chance." 

As  against  those  who  reason  for  the  necessity  of  a 
future  state,  in  order  that  the  justice  of  the  Deity  may 
be  satisfied,  Hume's  argumentation  appears  unanswerable. 
For  if  the  justice  of  God  resembles  what  we  mean  by  jus- 
tice, the  bestowal  of  infinite  happiness  for  finite  well-do- 
ing and  infinite  misery  for  finite  ill-doing,  it  is  in  no  sense 
just.  And,  if  the  justice  of  God  does  not  resemble  what 
we  mean  by  justice,  it  is  an  abuse  of  language  to  employ 
the  name  of  justice  for  the  attribute  described  by  it.  But, 
as  against  those  who  choose  to  argue  that  there  is  nothing 
in  what  is  known  to  us  of  the  attributes  of  the  Deity  in- 
consistent with  a  future  state  of  rewards  and  punishments, 
Hume's  pleadings  have  no  force.  Bishop  Butler's  argu- 
ment that,  inasmuch  as  the  visitation  of  our  acts  by  re- 
wards and  punishments  takes  place  in  this  life,  rewards 
and  punishments  must  be  consistent  with  the  attributes  of 
the  Deity,  and  therefore  may  go  on  as  long  as  the  mind 
endures,  is  unanswerable.  Whatever  exists  is,  by  the  hy- 
pothesis, existent  by  the  will  of  God ;  and,  therefore,  the 
pains  and  pleasures  which  exist  now  may  go  on  existing 
for  all  eternity,  either  increasing,  diminishing,  or  being 
endlessly  varied  in  their  intensity,  as  they  are  now. 

It  is  remarkable  that  Hume  does  not  refer  to  the  senti- 


ix.j      THE  SOUL :  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  IMMORTALITY.       1T7 

mental  arguments  for  the  immortality  of  the  soul  which 
are  so  much  in  vogue  at  the  present  day,  and  which  are 
based  upon  our  desire  for  a  longer  conscious  existence  than 
that  which  nature  appears  to  have  allotted  to  us.  Perhaps 
he  did  not  think  them  worth  notice.  For  indeed  it  is  not 
a  little  strange,  that  our  strong  desire  that  a  certain  occur- 
rence should  happen  should  be  put  forward  as  evidence 
that  it  will  happen.  If  my  intense  desire  to  see  the  friend 
from  whom  I  have  parted  does  not  bring  him  from  the 
other  side  of  the  world,  or  take  me  thither ;  if  the  moth- 
er's agonised  prayer  that  her  child  should  live  has  not  pre- 
vented him  from  dying;  experience  certainly  affords  no 
presumption  that  the  strong  desire  to  be  alive  after  death, 
which  we  call  the  aspiration  after  immortality,  is  any  more 
likely  to  be  gratified.  As  Hume  truly  says,  "  All  doctrines 
are  to  be  suspected  which  are  favoured  by  our  passions ;" 
and  the  doctrine,  that  we  are  immortal  because  we  should 
extremely  like  to  be  so,  contains  the  quintessence  of  sus- 
piciousness. 

In  respect  of  the  existence  and  attributes  of  the  soul, 
as  of  those  of  the  Deity,  then,  logic  is  powerless  and  rea- 
son silent.  At  the  most  we  can  get  no  further  than  the 
conclusion  of  Kant : — 

"  After  we  have  satisfied  ourselves  of  the  vanity  of  all  the 
ambitious  attempts  of  reason  to  fly  beyond  the  bounds  of 
experience,  enough  remains  of  practical  value  to  content  us. 
It  is  true  that  no  one  may  boast  that  he  knows  that  God  and 
a  future  life  exist ;  for,  if  he  possesses  such  knowledge,  he 
is  just  the  man  for  whom  I  have  long  been  seeking.  All 
knowledge  (touching  an  object  of  mere  reason)  can  be  com- 
municated, and  therefore  I  might  hope  to  see  my  own  knowl- 
edge increased  to  this  prodigious  extent,  by  his  instruction, 
No;  our  conviction  in  these  matters  is  not  logical,  bvt  moral 
37 


178  HUME.  [CHAP. 

certainty ;  and,  inasmuch  as  it  rests  upon  subjective  grounds 
(of  moral  disposition),  I  must  not  even  say,  it  is  morally  cer- 
tain that  there  is  a  God,  and  so  on ;  but,  /  am  morally  cer- 
tain, and  so  on.  That  is  to  say,  the  belief  in  a  God  and  in 
another  world  is  so  interwoven  with  my  moral  nature,  that 
the  former  can  no  more  vanish  than  the  latter  can  ever  be 
torn  from  me. 

"  The  only  point  to  be  remarked  here  is  that  this  act  of 
faith  of  the  intellect  ( Vemunftglaiibe)  assumes  the  existence 
of  moral  dispositions.  If  we  leave  them  aside,  and  suppose  a 
mind  quite  indifferent  to  moral  laws,  the  inquiry  started  by 
reason  becomes  merely  a  subject  for  speculation;  and  [the 
conclusion  attained]  may  then  indeed  be  supported  by  strong 
arguments  from  analogy,  but  not  by  such  as  are  competent 
to  overcome  persistent  scepticism. 

"  There  is  no  one,  however,  who  can  fail  to  be  interested 
in  these  questions.  For,  although  he  may  be  excluded  from 
moral  influences  by  the  want  of  a  good  disposition,  yet,  even 
in  this  case,  enough  remains  to  lead  him  to  fear  a  divine  ex- 
istence and  a  future  state.  To  this  end,  no  more  is  necessary 
than  that  he  can  at  least  have  no  certainty  that  there  is  no 
such  being,  and  no  future  life ;  for,  to  make  this  conclusion 
demonstratively  certain,  he  must  be  able  to  prove  the  impos- 
sibility of  both ;  and  this  assuredly  no  rational  man  can  un- 
dertake to  do.  This  negative  belief,  indeed,  cannot  produce 
either  morality  or  good  dispositions,  but  can  operate  in  an 
analogous  fashion,  by  powerfully  repressing  the  outbreak  of 
evil  tendencies. 

"  But  it  will  be  said,  is  this  all  that  Pure  Reason  can  do 
when  it  gazes  out  beyond  the  bounds  of  experience  ?  Noth- 
ing more  than  two  articles  of  faith  ?  Common  sense  could 
achieve  as  much  without  calling  the  philosophers  to  its 
counsels ! 

"  I  will  not  here  speak  of  the  service  which  philosophy 
has  rendered  to  human  reason  by  the  laborious  efforts  of  its 
criticism,  granting  that  the  outcome  proves  to  be  merely  neg- 


ix.]      THE  SOUL:   THE  DOCTRINE  OF  IMMORTALITY.      179 

ative :  about  that  matter  something  is  to  be  said  in  the  fol- 
lowing section.  But  do  you  then  ask,  that  the  knowledge 
which  interests  all  men  shall  transcend  the  common  under- 
standing, and  be  discovered  for  you  only  by  philosophers  ? 
The  very  thing  which  you  make  a  reproach  is  the  best  con- 
firmation of  the  justice  of  the  previous  conclusions,  since  it 
shows  that  which  could  not,  at  first,  have  been  anticipated ; 
namely,  that  in  those  matters  which  concern  all  men  alike, 
nature  is  not  guilty  of  distributing  her  gifts  with  partiality ; 
and  that  the  highest  philosophy,  in  dealing  with  the  most 
important  concerns  of  humanity,  is  able  to  take  us  no  fur- 
ther than  the  guidance  which  she  affords  to  the  commonest 
understanding." l 

In  short,  nothing  can  be  proved  or  disproved  respect- 
ing either  the  distinct  existence,  the  substance,  or  the  du- 
rability of  the  soul.  So  far,  Kant  is  at  one  with  Hume. 
But  Kant  adds,  as  you  cannot  disprove  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  and  as  the  belief  therein  is  very  useful  for 
moral  purposes,  you  may  assume  it.  To  which,  had 
Hume  lived  half  a  century  later,  he  would  probably  have 
replied  that,  if  morality  has  no  better  foundation  than 
an  assumption,  it  is  not  likely  to  bear  much  strain ;  and, 
if  it  has  a  better  foundation,  the  assumption  rather  weak- 
ens than  strengthens  it. 

As  has  been  already  said,  Hume  is  not  content  with 
denying  that  we  know  anything  about  the  existence  or 
the  nature  of  the  soul ;  but  he  carries  the  war  into  the  en- 
emy's camp,  and  accuses  those  who  affirm  the  immaterial- 
ity, simplicity,  and  indivisibility  of  the  thinking  substance, 
of  atheism  and  Spinozism,  which  are  assumed  to  be  con- 
vertible terms. 

The  method  of  attack  is  ingenious.      Observation  ap- 

1  Krttik  der  reinen  Vernwnft.    Ed.  Hartenstein,  p.  547. 


180  HUME.  [CHAP.  ix. 

pears  to  acquaint  us  with  two  different  systems  of  beings, 
and  both  Spinoza  and  orthodox  philosophers  agree  that 
the  necessary  substratum  of  each  of  these  is  a  substance, 
in  which  the  phenomena  adhere,  or  of  which  they  are  at- 
tributes or  modes. 

"  I  observe  first  the  universe  of  objects  or  of  body ;  the 
sun,  moon,  and  stars :  the  earth,  seas,  plants,  animals,  men, 
ships,  houses,  and  other  productions  either  of  art  or  of  nat- 
ure. Here  Spinoza  appears,  and  tells  me  that  these  are  only 
modifications,  and  that  the  subject  in  which  they  inhere  is 
simple,  uncompounded,  and  indivisible.  After  this  I  con- 
sider the  other  system  of  beings,  viz.,  the  universe  of  thought, 
or  my  impressions  and  ideas.  Then  I  observe  another  sun, 
moon,  and  stars ;  an  earth  and  seas,  covered  and  inhabited 
by  plants  and  animals,  towns,  houses,  mountains,  rivers,  and, 
in  short,  everything  I  can  discover  or  conceive  in  the  first 
system.  Upon  my  inquiring  concerning  these,  theologians 
present  themselves,  and  tell  me  that  these  also  are  modifica- 
tions, and  modifications  of  one  simple,  uncompounded,  and 
indivisible  substance.  Immediately  upon  which  I  am  deaf- 
ened with  the  noise  of  a  hundred  voices,  that  treat  the  first 
hypothesis  with  detestation  and  scorn,  and  the  second  with 
applause  and  veneration.  I  turn  my  attention  to  these  hy- 
potheses to  see  what  may  be  the  reason  of  so  great  a  partial- 
ity ;  and  find  that  they  have  the  same  fault  of  being  unintel- 
ligible, and  that,  as  far  as  we  can  understand  them,  they  are 
so  much  alike,  that  'tis  impossible  to  discover  any  absurdity 
in  one  which  is  not  common  to  both  of  them." — (I.  p.  309.) 

For  the  manner  in  which  Hume  makes  his  case  good, 
I  must  refer  to  the  original.  Plain  people  may  rest  satis- 
fied that  both  hypotheses  are  unintelligible,  without  plung- 
ing any  further  among  syllogisms,  the  premisses  of  which 
convey  no  meaning,  while  the  conclusions  carry  no  con- 
viction. 


CHAPTER  X. 

VOLITION  :    LIBERTY    AND    NECESSITY. 

IN  the  opening  paragraphs  of  the  third  part  of  the  sec- 
ond book  of  the  Treatise,  Hume  gives  a  description  of  the 
will. 

"  Of  all  the  immediate  effects  of  pain  and  pleasure  there 
is  none  more  remarkable  than  the  will;  and  though,  proper- 
ly speaking,  it  be  not  comprehended  among  the  passions,  yet 
as  the  full  understanding  of  its  nature  and  properties  is  nec- 
essary to  the  explanation  of  them,  we  shall  here  make  it  the 
subject  of  our  inquiry.  I  desire  it  may  be  observed,  that  by 
the  will  I  mean  nothing  but  the  internal  impression  we  feel, 
and  a/re  conscious  of,  when  we  Jcnowingly  give  rise  to  any  new 
motion  of  our  tody,  or  new  perception  of  our  mind.  This  im- 
pression, like  the  preceding  ones  of  pride  and  humility,  love 
and  hatred,  'tis  impossible  to  define,  and  needless  to  describe 
any  further."— (II.  p.  150.) 

This  description  of  volition  may  be  criticised  on  vari- 
ous grounds.  More  especially  does  it  seem  defective  in 
restricting  the  term  "will"  to  that  feeling  which  arises 
when  we  act,  or  appear  to  act,  as  causes ;  for  one  may 
will  to  strike  without  striking,  or  to  think  of  something 
which  we  have  forgotten. 

Every  volition  is  a  complex  idea  composed  of  two  ele- 
ments :  the  one  is  the  idea  of  an  action ;  the  other  is  a 
desire  for  the  occurrence  of  that  action.  If  I  will  to 


182  HUME.  [CHAP. 

strike,  I  have  an  idea  of  a  certain  movement,  and  a  de- 
sire that  that  movement  should  take  place ;  if  I  will  to 
think  of  any  subject,  or,  in  other  words,  to  attend  to  that 
subject,  I  have  an  idea  of  the  subject  and  a  strong  desire 
that  it  should  remain  present  to  my  consciousness.  And 
so  far  as  I  can  discover,  this  combination  of  an  idea  of 
an  object  with  an  emotion  is  everything  that  can  be  di- 
rectly observed  in  an  act  of  volition.  So  that  Hume's 
definition  may  be  amended  thus :  Volition  is  the  impres- 
sion which  arises  when  the  idea  of  a  bodily  or  mental 
action  is  accompanied  by  the  desire  that  the  action  should 
be  accomplished.  It  differs  from  other  desires  simply  in 
the  fact  that  we  regard  ourselves  as  possible  causes  of  the 
action  desired. 

Two  questions  arise,  in  connexion  with  the  observation 
of  the  phenomenon  of  volition,  as  they  arise  out  of  the 
contemplation  of  all  other  natural  phenomena.  Firstly, 
has  it  a  cause,  and,  if  so,  what  is  its  cause?  Secondly, 
is  it  followed  by  any  effect,  and,  if  so,  what  effect  does  it 
produce  ? 

Hume  points  out,  that  the  nature  of  the  phenomena 
we  consider  can  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  origin  of 
the  conception  that  they  are  connected  by  the  relation 
of  cause  and  effect.  For  that  relation  is  nothing  but  an 
order  of  succession,  which,  so  far  as  our  experience  goes, 
is  invariable ;  and  it  is  obvious  that  the  nature  of  phe- 
nomena has  nothing  to  do  with  their  order.  Whatever  it 
is  that  leads  us  to  seek  for  a  cause  for  every  event,  in  the 
case  of  the  phenomena  of  the  external  world,  compels  us, 
with  equal  cogency,  to  seek  it  in  that  of  the  mind. 

The  only  meaning  of  the  law  of  causation,  in  the  phys- 
ical world,  is,  that  it  generalises  universal  experience  of 
the  order  of  that  world ;  and  if  experience  shows  a  sim- 


X.J  VOLITION:  LIBERTY  AND  NECESSITY.  188 

ilar  order  to  obtain  among  states  of  consciousness,  the  law 
of  causation  will  properly  express  that  order. 

That  such  an  order  exists,  however,  is  acknowledged  by 
every  sane  man : 

"  Our  idea,  therefore,  of  necessity  and  causation,  arises  en- 
tirely from  the  uniformity  observable  in  the  operations  of 
nature,  where  similar  objects  are  constantly  conjoined  to- 
gether, and  the  mind  is  determined  by  custom  to  infer  the 
one  from  the  appearance  of  the  other.  These  two  circum- 
stances form  the  whole  of  that  necessity  which  we  ascribe 
to  matter.  Beyond  the  constant  conjunction  of  similar  ob- 
jects and  the  consequent  inference  from  one  to  the  other,  we 
have  no  notion  of  any  necessity  of  connexion. 

"  If  it  appear,  therefore,  what  all  mankind  have  ever  al- 
lowed, without  any  doubt  or  hesitation,  that  these  two  cir- 
cumstances take  place  in  the  voluntary  actions  of  men,  and 
in  the  operations  of  mind,  it  must  follow  that  all  mankind 
have  ever  agreed  in  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  and  that  they 
have  hitherto  disputed  merely  for  not  understanding  each 
other."— (IV.  p.  97.) 

But  is  this  constant  conjunction  observable  in  human 
actions?  A  student  of  history  could  give  but  one  answer 
to  this  question : 

"  Ambition,  avarice,  self-love,  vanity,  friendship,  generosity, 
public  spirit :  these  passions,  mixed  in  various  degrees,  and 
distributed  through  society,  have  been,  from  the  beginning 
of  the  world,  and  still  are,  the  source  of  all  the  actions  and 
enterprises  which  have  ever  been  observed  among  mankind. 
Would  you  know  the  sentiments,  inclinations,  and  course  of 
life  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans  ?  Study  well  the  temper  and 
actions  of  the  French  and  English.  You  cannot  be  much  mis- 
taken in  transferring  to  the  former  most  of  the  observations 
which  you  have  made  with  regard  to  the  latter.  Mankind 
are  so  much  the  same,  in  all  times  and  places,  that  history 


184  HUME.  [CHAP. 

informs  us  of  nothing  new  or  strange  in  this  particular.  Its 
chief  use  is  only  to  discover  the  constant  and  universal  prin- 
ciples of  human  nature,  by  showing  men  in  all  varieties  of 
circumstances  and  situations,  and  furnishing  us  with  mate- 
rials from  which  we  may  form  our  observations,  and  become 
acquainted  with  the  regular  springs  of  human  action  and 
behaviour.  These  records  of  wars,  intrigues,  factions,  and 
revolutions  are  so  many  collections  of  experiments,  by  which 
the  politician  or  moral  philosopher  fixes  the  principles  of  his 
science,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  physician  or  natural  phi- 
losopher becomes  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  plants,  min- 
erals, and  other  external  objects,  by  the  experiments  which 
he  forms  concerning  them.  Nor  are  the  earth,  air,  water, 
and  other  elements,  examined  by  Aristotle  and  Hippocrates, 
more  like  to  those  which  at  present  lie  under  our  observa- 
tion, than  the  men  described  by  Polybius  and  Tacitus  are  to 
those  who  now  govern  the  world." — (IV.  p.  97 — 8.) 

Hume  proceeds  to  point  out  that  the  value  set  upon 
experience  in  the  conduct  of  affairs,  whether  of  business 
or  of  politics,  involves  the  acknowledgment  that  we  base 
our  expectation  of  what  men  will  do  upon  our  observation 
of  what  they  have  done,  and  that  we  are  as  firmly  con- 
vinced of  the  fixed  order  of  thoughts  as  we  are  of  that 
of  things.  And,  if  it  be  urged  that  human  actions  not 
unfrequently  appear  unaccountable  and  capricious,  his  re- 
ply is  prompt : — 

"  I  grant  it  possible  to  find  some  actions  which  seem  to 
have  no  regular  connexion  with  any  known  motives,  and  are 
exceptions  to  all  the  measures  of  conduct  which  have  ever 
been  established  for  the  government  of  men.  But  if  one 
could  willingly  know  what  judgment  should  be  formed  of 
such  irregular  and  extraordinary  actions,  we  may  consider 
the  sentiments  commonly  entertained  with  regard  to  thoso 
irregular  events  which  appear  in  the  course  of  nature,  and 


x]  VOLITION:  LIBERTY  AND  NECESSITY.  181 

the  operations  of  external  objects.  All  causes  are  not  con- 
joined to  their  usual  effects  with  like  uniformity.  An  arti- 
ficer, who  handles  only  dead  matter,  may  be  disappointed  in 
his  aim,  as  well  as  the  politician  who  directs  the  conduct  of 
sensible  and  intelligent  agents. 

"  The  vulgar,  who  take  things  according  to  their  first  ap- 
pearance, attribute  the  uncertainty  of  events  to  such  an  un- 
certainty in  the  causes  as  make  the  latter  often  fail  of  their 
usual  influence,  though  they  meet  with  no  impediment  to 
their  operation.  But  philosophers,  observing  that,  almost  in 
every  part  of  nature,  there  is  contained  a  vast  variety  of 
springs  and  principles,  which  are  hid,  by  reason  of  their 
minuteness  or  remoteness,  find  that  it  is  at  least  possible  the 
contrariety  of  events  may  not  proceed  from  any  contingency 
in  the  cause,  but  from  the  secret  operation  of  contrary  causes. 
This  possibility  is  converted  into  certainty  by  further  obser- 
vation, when  they  remark  that,  upon  an  exact  scrutiny,  a  con- 
trariety of  effects  always  betrays  a  contrariety  of  causes,  and 
proceeds  from  their  mutual  opposition.  A  peasant  can  give 
no  better  reason  for  the  stopping  of  any  clock  or  watch  than 
to  say  that  it  does  not  commonly  go  right.  But  an  artist  easi- 
ly perceives  that  the  same  force  in  the  spring  or  pendulum 
has  always  the  same  influence  on  the  wheels ;  but  fails  of  its 
usual  effect,  perhaps  by  reason  of  a  grain  of  dust,  which  puts  a 
stop  to  the  whole  movement.  From  the  observation  of  sever- 
al parallel  instances,  philosophers  form  a  maxim,  that  the  con- 
nexion between  all  causes  and  effects  is  equally  necessary,  and 
that  its  seeming  uncertainty  in  some  instances  proceeds  from 
the  secret  opposition  of  contrary  causes." — (IV.  p.  101 — 2.) 

So  with  regard  to  human  actions : — 

"The  internal  principles  and  motives  may  operate  in  a 
uniform  manner,  notwithstanding  these  seeming  irregulari- 
ties ;  in  the  same  manner  as  the  winds,  rains,  clouds,  and 
other  variations  of  the  weather  are  supposed  to  be  governed 
by  steady  principles;  though  not  easily  discoverable  by  hu- 
man sagacity  and  inquiry." — (IV.  p.  103.) 


18«  HUME.  [CHAP. 

Meteorology,  as  a  science,  was  not  in  existence  in 
Hume's  time,  or  he  would  have  left  out  the  "supposed 
to  be."  In  practice,  again,  what  difference  does  any  one 
make  between  natural  and  moral  evidence  I 

"A  prisoner  who  has  neither  money  nor  interest,  discovers 
the  impossibility  of  his  escape,  as  well  when  he  considers  the 
obstinacy  of  the  gaoler,  as  the  walls  and  bars  with  which  he 
is  surrounded ;  and,  in  all  attempts  for  his  freedom,  chooses 
rather  to  work  upon  the  stone  and  iron  of  the  one,  than  upon 
the  inflexible  nature  of  the  other.  The  same  prisoner,  when 
conducted  to  the  scaffold,  foresees  his  death  as  certainly  from 
the  constancy  and  fidelity  of  his  guards,  as  from  the  opera- 
tion of  the  axe  or  wheel.  His  mind  runs  along  a  certain 
train  of  ideas :  The  refusal  of  the  soldiers  to  consent  to  his 
escape ;  the  action  of  the  executioner ;  the  separation  of  the 
head  and  body ;  bleeding,  convulsive  motions,  and  death. 
Here  is  a  connected  chain  of  natural  causes  and  voluntary 
actions ;  but  the  mind  feels  no  difference  between  them,  in 
passing  from  one  link  to  another,  nor  is  less  certain  of  the 
future  event,  than  if  it  were  connected  with  the  objects  pre- 
sented to  the  memory  or  senses,  by  a  train  of  causes  cement- 
ed together  by  what  we  are  pleased  to  call  a  physical  necessi- 
ty. The  same  experienced  union  has  the  same  effect  on  the 
mind,  whether  the  united  objects  be  motives,  volition,  and 
actions,  or  figure  and  motion.  We  may  change  the  names 
of  things,  but  their  nature  and  their  operation  on  the  under- 
standing never  change." — (TV.  p.  105 — 6.) 

But,  if  the  necessary  connexion  of  our  acts  with  our 
ideas  has  always  been  acknowledged  in  practice,  why  the 
proclivity  of  mankind  to  deny  it  words  ? 

"  If  we  examine  the  operations  of  body,  and  the  produc- 
tion of  effects  from  their  causes,  we  shall  find  that  all  our  fac- 
ulties can  never  carry  us  further  in  our  knowledge  of  this  re- 
lation, than  barely  to  observe  that  particular  objects  are  con- 


x.J  VOLITION :   LIBERTY  AND  NECESSITY.  187 

vtantfy  conjoined  together,  and  that  the  mind  is  carried,  by  a 
customary  transition,  from  the  appearance  of  the  one  to  the 
belief  of  the  other.  But  though  this  conclusion  concerning 
human  ignorance  be  the  result  of  the  strictest  scrutiny  of  this 
subject,  men  still  entertain  a  strong  propensity  to  believe, 
that  they  penetrate  further  into  the  province  of  nature,  and 
perceive  something  like  a  necessary  connexion  between  cause 
and  effect.  When,  again,  they  turn  their  reflections  towards 
the  operations  of  their  own  minds,  and/eeZ  no  such  connex- 
ion between  the  motive  and  the  action,  they  are  thence  apt 
to  suppose  that  there  is  a  difference  between  the  effects 
which  result  from  material  force,  and  those  which  arise  from 
thought  and  intelligence.  But,  being  once  convinced  that 
we  know  nothing  of  causation  of  any  kind,  than  merely  the 
constant  conjunction  of  objects,  and  the  consequent  inference 
of  the  mind  from  one  to  another,  and  finding  that  these  two 
circumstances  are  universally  allowed  to  have  place  in  vol- 
untary actions,  we  may  be  more  easily  led  to  own  the  same 
necessity  common  to  all  causes." — (IV.  pp.  107 — 8.) 

The  last  asylum  of  the  hard-pressed  advocate  of  the 
doctrine  of  uncaused  volition  is  usually  that,  argue  as  you 
like,  he  has  a  profound  and  ineradicable  consciousness  of 
what  he  calls  the  freedom  of  his  will.  But  Hume  follows 
him  even  here,  though  only  in  a  note,  as  if  he  thought  the 
extinction  of  so  transparent  a  sophism  hardly  worthy  of 
the  dignity  of  his  text. 

"  The  prevalence  of  the  doctrine  of  liberty  may  be  ac- 
counted for  from  another  cause,  viz.,  a  false  sensation,  or 
seeming  experience,  which  we  have,  or  may  have,  of  liberty 
or  indifference  in  many  of  our  actions.  The  necessity  of  any 
action,  whether  of  matter  or  of  mind,  is  not,  properly  speak- 
ing, a  quality  in  the  agent,  but  in  any  thinking  or  intelligent 
being  who  may  consider  the  action ;  and  it  consists  chiefly 
in  the  determination  of  his  thoughts  to  infer  the  existence 
N  9 


188  HUME.  [CHAP. 

of  that  action  from  some  preceding  objects ;  as  liberty,  when 
opposed  to  necessity,  is  nothing  but  the  want  of  that  deter- 
mination, and  a  certain  looseness  or  indifference  which  we 
feel,  in  passing  or  not  passing,  from  the  idea  of  any  object  to 
the  idea  of  any  succeeding  one.  Now  we  may  observe  that 
though,  in  reflecting  on  human  actions,  we  seldom  feel  such 
looseness  or  indifference,  but  are  commonly  able  to  infer  them 
with  considerable  certainty  from  their  motives,  and  from  the 
dispositions  of  the  agent ;  yet  it  frequently  happens  that,  in 
performing  the  actions  themselves,  we  are  sensible  of  some- 
thing like  it:  And  as  all  resembling  objects  are  taken  for 
each  other,  this  has  been  employed  as  demonstrative  and 
even  intuitive  proof  of  human  liberty.  We  feel  that  our  ac- 
tions are  subject  to  our  will  on  most  occasions ;  and  imagine 
we  feel  that  the  will  itself  is  subject  to  nothing,  because, 
when  by  a  denial  of  it  we  are  provoked  to  try,  we  feel  that  it 
moves  easily  every  way,  and  produces  an  image  of  itself  (or 
a  Velleify,  as  it  is  called  in  the  schools),  even  on  that  side  on 
which  it  did  not  settle.  This  image  or  faint  motion,  we  per- 
suade ourselves,  could  at  that  time  have  been  completed  into 
the  thing  itself;  because,  should  that  be  denied,  we  find  upon 
a  second  trial  that  at  present  it  can.  We  consider  not  that 
the  fantastical  desire  of  showing  liberty  is  here  the  motive 
of  our  actions." — (IV.  p.  110,  note.) 

Moreover,  the  moment  the  attempt  is  made  to  give  a 
definite  meaning  to  the  words,  the  supposed  opposition 
between  free-will  and  necessity  turns  out  to  be  a  mere 
verbal  dispute. 

"  For  what  is  meant  by  liberty  when  applied  to  voluntary 
actions  ?  We  cannot  surely  mean  that  actions  have  so  little 
connexion  with  motive,  inclinations,  and  circumstances,  that 
one  does  not  follow  with  a  certain  degree  of  uniformity  from 
the  other,  and  that  one  affords  no  inference  by  which  we  can 
conclude  the  existence  of  the  other.  For  these  are  plain 
and  acknowledged  matters  of  fact  By  liberty,  then,  we  can 


x.]  VOLITION:   LIBERTY  AND  NECESSITY.  189 

only  mean  a  power  of  acting  or  not  acting  according  to  the  de- 
terminations of  the  will;  that  is,  if  we  choose  to  remain  at 
rest,  we  may ;  if  we  choose  to  move,  we  also  may.  Now  this 
hypothetical  liberty  is  universally  allowed  to  belong  to  every 
one  who  is  not  a  prisoner  and  in  chains.  Here,  then,  is  no 
subject  of  dispute."— (TV.  p.  111.) 

Half  the  controversies  about  the  freedom  of  the  will 
would  have  had  no  existence,  if  this  pithy  paragraph  had 
been  well  pondered  by  those  who  oppose  the  doctrine  of 
necessity.  For  they  rest  upon  the  absurd  presumption 
that  the  proposition,  "  I  can  do  as  I  like,"  is  contradicto- 
ry to  the  doctrine  of  necessity.  The  answer  is,  nobody 
doubts  that,  at  any  rate  within  certain  limits,  you  can  do 
as  you  like.  But  what  determines  your  likings  and  dis- 
likings?  Did  you  make  your  own  constitution?  Is  it 
your  contrivance  that  one  thing  is  pleasant  and  another 
is  painful  ?  And  even  if  it  were,  why  did  you  prefer  to 
make  it  after  the  one  fashion  rather  than  the  other?  The 
passionate  assertion  of  the  consciousness  of  their  freedom, 
which  is  the  favourite  refuge  of  the  opponents  of  the  doc- 
trine of  necessity,  is  mere  futility,  for  nobody  denies  it. 
What  they  really  have  to  do,  if  they  would  upset  the  nee' 
essarian  argument,  is  to  prove  that  they  are  free  to  asso- 
ciate any  emotion  whatever  with  any  idea  whatever ;  to  like 
pain  as  much  as  pleasure ;  vice  as  much  as  virtue ;  in  short, 
to  prove  that,  whatever  may  be  the  fixity  of  order  of  the 
universe  of  things,  that  of  thought  is  given  over  to  chance. 

In  the  second  part  of  this  remarkable  essay,  Hume  consid- 
ers the  real,  or  supposed,  immoral  consequences  of  the  doc- 
trine of  necessity,  premising  the  weighty  observation  that 

"  When  any  opinion  leads  to  absurdity,  it  is  certainly  false ; 
but  it  is  not  certain  that  an  opinion  is  false  because  it  is  of 
dangerous  consequence." — (IV.  p.  112.) 


190  HUME.  [CHAP. 

And,  therefore,  that  the  attempt  to  refute  an  opinion  by 
a  picture  of  its  dangerous  consequences  to  religion  and 
morality,  is  as  illogical  as  it  is  reprehensible. 

It  is  said,  in  the  first  place,  that  necessity  destroys  re- 
sponsibility ;  that,  as  it  is  usually  put,  we  have  no  right  to 
praise  or  blame  actions  that  cannot  be  helped.  Hume's 
reply  amounts  to  this,  that  the  very  idea  of  responsibility 
implies  the  belief  in  the  necessary  connection  of  certain 
actions  with  certain  states  of  the  mind.  A  person  is  held 
responsible  only  for  those  acts  which  are  preceded  by  a 
certain  intention ;  and,  as  we  cannot  see,  or  hear,  or  feel, 
an  intention,  we  can  only  reason  out  its  existence  on  the 
principle  that  like  effects  have  like  causes. 

If  a  man  is  found  by  the  police  busy  with  "  jemmy " 
and  dark  lantern  at  a  jeweller's  shop  door  over  night,  the 
magistrate  before  whom  he  is  brought  the  next  morning, 
reasons  from  those  effects  to  their  causes  in  the  fellow's 
"  burglarious  "  ideas  and  volitions,  with  perfect  confidence, 
and  punishes  him  accordingly.  And  it  is  quite  clear  that 
such  a  proceeding  would  be  grossly  unjust,  if  the  links  of 
the  logical  process  were  other  than  necessarily  connected 
together.  The  advocate  who  should  attempt  to  get  the 
man  off  on  the  plea  that  his  client  need  not  necessarily 
have  had  a  felonious  intent,  would  hardly  waste  his  time 
more  if  he  tried  to  prove  that  the  sum  of  all  the  angles  of 
a  triangle  is  not  two  right  angles,  but  three. 

A  man's  moral  responsibility  for  his  acts  has,  in  fact, 
nothing  to  do  with  the  causation  of  these  acts,  but  de- 
pends on  the  frame  of  mind  which  accompanies  them. 
Common  language  tells  us  this,  when  it  uses  "  well  -  dis- 
posed "  as  the  equivalent  of  "  good,"  and  "  evil-minded  " 
as  that  of  "  wicked."  If  A  does  something  which  puts  B 
in  a  violent  passion,  it  is  quite  possible  to  admit  that  B's 


X]  VOLITION:  LIBERTY  AND  NECESSITY.  1»1 

passion  is  the  necessary  consequence  of  A's  act,  and  yet 
to  believe  that  B's  fury  is  morally  wrong,  or  that  he  ought 
to  control  it.  In  fact,  a  calm  bystander  would  reason  with 
both  on  the  assumption  of  moral  necessity.  He  would 
say  to  A,  "  You  were  wrong  in  doing  a  thing  which  you 
knew  (that  is,  of  the  necessity  of  which  you  were  con- 
vinced) would  irritate  B."  And  he  would  say  to  B, "  You 
are  wrong  to  give  way  to  passion,  for  you  know  its  evil 
effects" — that  is  the  necessary  connection  between  yield- 
ing to  passion  and  evil. 

So  far,  therefore,  from  necessity  destroying  moral  re- 
sponsibility, it  is  the  foundation  of  all  praise  and  blame ; 
and  moral  admiration  reaches  its  climax  in  the  ascription 
of  necessary  goodness  to  the  Deity. 

To  the  statement  of  another  consequence  of  the  neces- 
sarian doctrine  that,  if  there  be  a  God,  he  must  be  the 
cause  of  all  evil  as  well  as  of  all  good,  Hume  gives  no 
veal  reply — probably  because  none  is  possible.  But  then, 
if  this  conclusion  is  distinctly  and  unquestionably  deduci- 
ble  from  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  it  is  no  less  unques- 
tionably a  direct  consequence  of  every  known  form  of 
monotheism.  If  God  is  the  cause  of  all  things,  he  must 
be  the  cause  of  evil  among  the  rest ;  if  he  is  omniscient,  he 
must  have  the  fore-knowledge  of  evil ;  if  he  is  almighty, 
he  must  possess  the  power  of  preventing  or  of  extinguish- 
ing evil.  And  to  say  that  an  all-knowing  and  all-power- 
ful being  is  not  responsible  for  what  happens,  because  he 
only  permits  it,  is,  under  its  intellectual  aspect,  a  piece  of 
childish  sophistry ;  while,  as  to  the  moral  look  of  it,  one 
has  only  to  ask  any  decently  honourable  man  whether, 
under  like  circumstances,  he  would  try  to  get  rid  of  his 
responsibility  by  such  a  plea. 

Hume's  Inquiry  appeared  in  1748.    He  does  not  refer 


192  HUME.  [CHAP. 

to  Anthony  Collins'  essay  on  Liberty,  published  thirty- 
three  years  before,  in  which  the  same  question  is  treated 
to  the  same  effect,  with  singular  force  and  lucidity.  It 
may  be  said,  perhaps,  that  it  is  not  wonderful  that  the  two 
freethinkers  should  follow  the  same  line  of  reasoning ;  but 
no  such  theory  will  account  for  the  fact  that  in  1754,  the 
famous  Calvinistic  divine,  Jonathan  Edwards,  President  of 
the  College  of  New  Jersey,  produced,  in  the  interests  of 
the  straitest  orthodoxy,  a  demonstration  of  the  necessarian 
thesis,  which  has  never  been  equalled  in  power,  and  cer- 
tainly has  never  been  refuted. 

In  the  ninth  section  of  the  fourth  part  of  Edwards* 
Inquiry,  he  has  to  deal  with  the  Arminian  objection  to 
the  Calvinistic  doctrine  that  "  it  makes  God  the  author  of 
sin ;"  and  it  is  curious  to  watch  the  struggle  between  the 
theological  controversialist,  striving  to  ward  off  an  admis- 
sion which  he  knows  will  be  employed  to  damage  his  side, 
and  the  acute  logician,  conscious  that,  in  some  shape  or 
other,  the  admission  must  be  made.  Beginning  with  a 
tu  quoque,  that  the  Arminian  doctrine  involves  conse- 
quences as  bad  as  the  Calvinistic  view,  he  proceeds  to  ob- 
ject to  the  term  "  author  of  sin,"  though  he  ends  by  ad- 
mitting that,  in  a  certain  sense,  it  is  applicable ;  he  proves 
from  Scripture  that  God  is  the  disposer  and  orderer  of 
sin ;  and  then,  by  an  elaborate  false  analogy  with  the 
darkness  resulting  from  the  absence  of  the  sun,  endeavours 
to  suggest  that  he  is  only  the  author  of  it  in  a  negative 
sense ;  and,  finally,  he  takes  refuge  in  the  conclusion  that, 
though  God  is  the  orderer  and  disposer  of  those  deeds 
which,  considered  in  relation  to  their  agents,  are  morally 
evil,  yet,  inasmuch  as  His  purpose  has  all  along  been  in- 
finitely good,  they  are  not  evil  relatively  to  him. 

And  this,  of  course,  may  be  perfectly  true ;  but  if  true, 


X.]  VOLITION:   LIBERTY  AND  NECESSITY.  193 

it  is  inconsistent  with  the  attribute  of  omnipotence.  It 
is  conceivable  that  there  should  be  no  evil  in  the  world ; 
that  which  is  conceivable  is  certainly  possible ;  if  it  were 
possible  for  evil  to  be  non-existent,  the  maker  of  the 
world,  who,  though  foreknowing  the  existence  of  evil  in 
that  world,  did  not  prevent  it,  either  did  not  really  desire 
it  should  not  exist,  or  could  not  prevent  its  existence.  It 
might  be  well  for  those  who  inveigh  against  the  logical 
consequences  of  necessarianism  to  bethink  them  of  the 
logical  consequences  of  theism;  which  are  not  only  the 
same  when  the  attribute  of  Omniscience  is  ascribed  to  the 
Deity,  but  which  bring  out,  from  the  existence  of  moral 
evil,  a  hopeless  conflict  between  the  attributes  of  Infinite 
Benevolence  and  Infinite  Power,  which,  with  no  less  as- 
surance, are  affirmed  to  appertain  to  the  Divine  Being. 

Kant's  mode  of  dealing  with  the  doctrine  of  necessity 
is  very  singular.  That  the  phenomena  of  the  mind  follow 
fixed  relations  of  cause  and  effect  is,  to  him,  as  unquestion- 
able as  it  is  to  Hume.  But  then  there  is  the  Ding  an 
sick,  the  Noumenon,  or  Kantian  equivalent  for  the  sub> 
stance  of  the  soul.  This,  being  out  of  the  phenomenal 
world,  is  subject  to  none  of  the  laws  of  phenomena,  and 
is  consequently  as  absolutely  free,  and  as  completely  pow- 
erless, as  a  mathematical  point,  in  vacuo,  would  be.  Hence 
volition  is  uncaused,  so  far  as  it  belongs  to  the  noumenon, 
but  necessary  so  far  as  it  takes  effect  in  the  phenomenal 
world. 

Since  Kant  is  never  weary  of  telling  us  that  we  know 
nothing  whatever,  and  can  know  nothing,  about  the  nou- 
menon, except  as  the  hypothetical  subject  of  any  number 
of  negative  predicates ;  the  information  that  it  is  free,  in 
the  sense  of  being  out  of  reach  of  the  law  of  causation, 
is  about  as  valuable  as  the  assertion  that  it  is  neither  grey, 


194  HUME.  [CHAP.  x. 

nor  blue,  nor  square.  For  practical  purposes,  it  must  be 
admitted  that  the  inward  possession  of  such  a  noumenal 
libertine  does  not  amount  to  much  for  people  whose 
actual  existence  is  made  up  of  nothing  but  definitely 
regulated  phenomena.  When  the  good  and  evil  angels 
fought  for  the  dead  body  of  Moses,  its  presence  must 
have  been  of  about  the  same  value  to  either  of  the  con- 
tending parties,  as  that  of  Kant's  noumenon,  in  the  battle 
of  impulses  which  rages  in  the  breast  of  man.  Metaphy- 
sicians, as  a  rule,  are  sadly  deficient  in  the  sense  of  hu- 
mour, or  they  would  surely  abstain  from  advancing  prop- 
ositions which,  when  stripped  of  the  verbiage  in  which 
they  are  disguised,  appear  to  the  profane  eye  to  be  bare 
shams,  naked  but  not  ashamed. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    PRINCIPLES    OF    MORALS. 

IN  his  autobiography,  Hume  writes : — 

"  In  the  same  year  [1752]  was  published  at  London  my  In- 
quiry concerning  the  Principles  of  Morals;  which,  in  my  own 
opinion  (who  ought  not  to  judge  on  that  subject),  is  of  all  my 
writings,  historical,  philosophical,  and  literary,  incomparably 
the  best.  It  came  unnoticed  and  unobserved  into  the  world." 

It  may  commonly  be  noticed  that  the  relative  value 
which  an  author  ascribes  to  his  own  works  rarely  agrees 
with  the  estimate  formed  of  them  by  his  readers,  who 
criticise  the  products,  without  either  the  power  or  the 
wish  to  take  into  account  the  pains  which  they  may  have 
cost  the  producer.  Moreover,  the  clear  and  dispassionate 
common  sense  of  the  Inquiry  concerning  the  Principles 
of  Morals  may  have  tasted  flat  after  the  highly-seasoned 
Inquiry  concerning  the  Human  Understanding.  Whether 
the  public  like  to  be  deceived  or  not  may  be  open  to 
question ;  but  it  is  beyond  a  doubt  that  they  love  to  be 
shocked  in  a  pleasant  and  mannerly  way.  Now  Hume's 
speculations  on  moral  questions  are  not  so  remote  from 
those  of  respectable  professors,  like  Hutcheson,  or  saintly 
prelates,  such  as  Butler,  as  to  present  any  striking  novelty. 
And  they  support  the  cause  of  righteousness  in  a  cool,  rea- 
9* 


196  HUME.  [CHAP. 

sonable,  indeed  slightly  patronising  fashion,  eminently  in 
harmony  with  the  mind  of  the  eighteenth  century ;  which 
admired  virtue  very  much,  if  she  would  only  avoid  the  rig- 
our which  the  age  called  fanaticism,  and  the  fervour  which 
it  called  enthusiasm. 

Having  applied  the  ordinary  methods  of  scientific  in- 
quiry to  the  intellectual  phenomena  of  the  mind,  it  was 
natural  that  Hume  should  extend  the  same  mode  of  inves- 
tigation to  its  moral  phenomena ;  and,  in  the  true  spirit 
of  a  natural  philosopher,  he  commences  by  selecting  a 
group  of  those  states  of  consciousness  with  which  every 
one's  personal  experience  must  have  made  him  familiar: 
in  the  expectation  that  the  discovery  of  the  sources  of 
moral  approbation  and  disapprobation,  in  this  compara- 
tively easy  case,  may  furnish  the  means  of  detecting  them 
where  they  are  more  recondite. 

"  We  shall  analyse  that  complication  of  mental  qualities 
which  form  what,  in  common  life,  we  call  PERSONAL  MERIT  : 
We  shall  consider  every  attribute  of  the  mind,  which  renders 
a  man  an  object  either  of  esteem  and  affection,  or  of  hatred 
and  contempt ;  every  habit  or  sentiment  or  faculty,  which,  if 
ascribed  to  any  person,  implies  either  praise  or  blame,  and 
may  enter  into  any  panegyric  or  satire  of  his  character  and 
manners.  The  quick  sensibility  which,  on  this  head,  is  so 
universal  among  mankind,  gives  a  philosopher  sufficient  as- 
surance that  he  can  never  be  considerably  mistaken  in  fram- 
ing the  catalogue,  or  incurs  any  danger  of  misplacing  the 
objects  of  his  contemplation :  He  needs  only  enter  into  his 
own  breast  for  a  moment,  and  consider  whether  he  should 
or  should  not  desire  to  have  this  or  that  quality  assigned  to 
him,  and  whether  such  or  such  an  imputation  would  proceed 
from  a  friend  or  an  enemy.  The  very  nature  of  language 
guides  us  almost  infallibly  in  forming  a  judgment  of  this 
nature;  and  as  every  tongue  possesses  one  set  of  words 


xi.]  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS.  197 

which  are  taken  in  a  good  sense,  and  another  in  the  oppo- 
site, the  least  acquaintance  with  the  idiom  suffices,  without 
any  reasoning,  to  direct  us  in  collecting  and  arranging  the 
estimable  or  blamable  qualities  of  men.  The  only  object 
of  reasoning  is  to  discover  the  circumstances,  on  both  sides, 
which  are  common  to  these  qualities;  to  observe  that  par- 
ticular in  which  the  estimable  qualities  agree  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  blamable  on  the  other,  and  thence  to  reach 
the  foundation  of  ethics,  and  find  their  universal  principles, 
from  which  all  censure  or  approbation  is  ultimately  derived. 
As  this  is  a  question  of  fact,  not  of  abstract  science,  we  can 
only  expect  success  by  following  the  experimental  method, 
and  deducing  general  maxims  from  a  comparison  of  particu- 
lar instances.  The  other  scientifical  method,  where  a  gen- 
eral abstract  principle  is  first  established,  and  is  afterwards 
branched  out  into  a  variety  of  inferences  and  conclusions, 
may  be  more  perfect  in  itself,  but  suits  less  the  imperfection 
of  human  nature,  and  is  a  common  source  of  illusion  and 
mistake,  in  this  as  well  as  in  other  subjects.  Men  are  now 
cured  of  their  passion  for  hypotheses  and  systems  in  natural 
philosophy,  and  will  hearken  to  no  arguments  but  those 
which  are  derived  from  experience.  It  is  full  time  they 
should  attempt  a  like  reformation  in  all  moral  disquisitions, 
and  reject  every  system  of  ethics,  however  subtile  or  ingen- 
ious, which  is  not  founded  on  fact  and  observation." — (TV. 
pp.  242—4.) 

No  qualities  give  a  man  a  greater  claim  to  personal 
merit  than  benevolence  and  justice ;  but  if  we  inquire 
why  benevolence  deserves  so  much  praise,  the  answer  will 
certainly  contain  a  large  reference  to  the  utility  of  that 
virtue  to  society ;  and  as  for  justice,  the  very  existence  of 
the  virtue  implies  that  of  society ;  public  utility  is  its  sole 
origin ;  and  the  measure  of  its  usefulness  is  also  the  stand- 
ard of  its  merit.  If  every  man  possessed  everything  he 
wanted,  and  no  one  had  the  power  to  interfere  with  such 


198  HUME.  [CHAP. 

possession ;  or  if  no  man  desired  that  which  could  damage 
his  fellow  man,  justice  would  have  no  part  to  play  in  the 
universe.  But  as  Hume  observes : — 

"  In  the  present  disposition  of  the  human  heart,  it  would 
perhaps  be  difficult  to  find  complete  instances  of  such  en- 
larged affections;  but  still  we  may  observe  that  the  case  of 
families  approaches  towards  it;  and  the  stronger  the  mut- 
ual benevolence  is  among  the  individuals,  the  nearer  it  ap- 
proaches, till  all  distinction  of  property  be  in  a  great  meas- 
ure lost  and  confounded  among  them.  Between  married 
persons,  the  cement  of  friendship  is  by  the  laws  supposed  so 
strong  as  to  abolish  all  division  of  possessions,  and  has  often, 
in  reality,  the  force  assigned  to  it :'  And  it  is  observable  that, 
during  the  ardour  of  new  enthusiasms,  when  every  principle 
is  inflamed  into  extravagance,  the  community  of  goods  has 
frequently  been  attempted;  and  nothing  but  experience  of 
its  inconveniences,  from  the  returning  or  disguised  selfish- 
ness of  men,  could  make  the  imprudent  fanatics  adopt  anew 
the  ideas  of  justice  and  separate  property.  So  true  is  it  that 
this  virtue  derives  its  existence  entirely  from  its  necessary 
use  to  the  intercourse  and  social  state  of  mankind." — (IV.  p. 
256.) 

"Were  the  human  species  so  framed  by  nature  as  that 
each  individual  possessed  within  himself  every  faculty  requi- 
site both  for  his  own  preservation  and  for  the  propagation 
of  his  kind :  Were  all  society  and  intercourse  cut  off  between 
man  and  man  by  the  primary  intention  of  the  Supreme  Cre- 
ator: It  seems  evident  that  so  solitary  a  being  would  be  as 
much  incapable  of  justice  as  of  social  discourse  and  conver- 

1  Family  affection  in  the  eighteenth  century  may  have  been 
stronger  than  in  the  nineteenth ;  but  Hume's  bachelor  inexperience 
can  surely  alone  explain  his  strange  account  of  the  suppositions  of 
the  marriage  law  of  that  day,  and  their  effects.  The  law  certainly 
abolished  all  division  of  possessions,  but  it  did  so  by  making  the 
husband  sole  proprietor. 


M.]  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS.  199 

sation.  Where  mutual  regard  and  forbearance  serve  to  no 
manner  of  purpose,  they  would  never  direct  the  conduct  of 
any  reasonable  man.  The  headlong  course  of  the  passions 
would  be  checked  by  no  reflection  on  future  consequences. 
And  as  each  man  is  here  supposed  to  love  himself  alone,  and 
to  depend  only  on  himself  and  his  own  activity  for  safety 
and  happiness,  he  would,  on  every  occasion,  to  the  utmost  of 
his  power,  challenge  the  preference  above  every  other  being, 
to  none  of  which  he  is  bound  by  any  ties,  either  of  nature 
or  of  interest. 

"  But  suppose  the  conjunction  of  the  sexes  to  be  estab- 
lished in  nature,  a  family  immediately  arises ;  and  particular 
rules  being  found  requisite  for  its  subsistence,  these  are  im- 
mediately embraced,  though  without  comprehending  the  rest 
of  mankind  within  their  prescriptions.  Suppose  that  sev 
eral  families  unite  together  in  one  society,  which  is  totally 
disjoined  from  all  others,  the  rules  which  preserve  peace  and 
order  enlarge  themselves  to  the  utmost  extent  of  that  socie- 
ty ;  but  becoming  then  entirely  useless,  lose  their  force  when 
carried  one  step  further.  But  again,  suppose  that  several 
distinct  societies  maintain  a  kind  of  intercourse  for  mutual 
convenience  and  advantage,  the  boundaries  of  justice  still 
grow  larger,  in  proportion  to  the  largeness  of  men's  views 
and  the  force  of  their  mutual  connexion.  History,  experi- 
ence, reason,  sufficiently  instruct  us  in  this  natural  progress 
of  human  sentiments,  and  in  the  gradual  enlargement  of  our 
regard  to  justice  in  proportion  as  we  become  acquainted 
with  the  extensive  utility  of  that  virtue." — (IV.  pp.  262 — 4.) 

The  moral  obligation  of  justice  and  the  rights  of  prop- 
erty are  by  no  means  diminished  by  this  exposure  of  the 
purely  utilitarian  basis  on  which  they  rest : — 

"For  what  stronger  foundation  can  be  desired  or  con- 
ceived for  any  duty,  than  to  observe  that  human  society,  or 
even  human  nature,  could  not  subsist  without  the  establish- 
ment of  it,  and  will  still  arrive  at  greater  degrees  of  happi- 


200  HUME.  [CHAP. 

ness  and  perfection,  the  more  inviolable  the  regard  is  which 
is  paid  to  that  duty  ? 

"The  dilemma  seems  obvious:  As  justice  evidently  tends 
to  promote  public  utility  and  to  support  civil  society,  the 
sentiment  of  justice  is  either  derived  from  our  reflecting  on 
that  tendency,  or,  like  hunger,  thirst,  and  other  appetites,  re- 
sentment, love  of  life,  attachment  to  offspring,  and  other 
passions,  arises  from  a  simple  original  instinct  in  the  human 
heart,  which  nature  has  implanted  for  like  salutary  purposes. 
If  the  latter  be  the  case,  it  follows  that  property,  which  is  the 
object  of  justice,  is  also  distinguished  by  a  simple  original 
instinct,  and  is  not  ascertained  by  any  argument  or  reflection. 
But  who  is  there  that  ever  heard  of  such  an  instinct  ?  Or  is 
this  a  subject  in  which  new  discoveries  can  be  made?  We 
may  as  well  expect  to  discover  in  the  body  new  senses  which 
had  before  escaped  the  observation  of  all  mankind." — (IV. 
pp.  273, 4.) 

The  restriction  of  the  object  of  justice  to  property,  in 
this  passage,  is  singular.  Pleasure  and  pain  can  hardly  be 
included  under  the  term  property,  and  yet  justice  surely 
deals  largely  with  the  withholding  of  the  former,  or  the 
infliction  of  the  latter,  by  men  on  one  another.  If  a  man 
bars  another  from  a  pleasure  which  he  would  otherwise 
enjoy,  or  actively  hurts  him  without  good  reason,  the  lat- 
ter is  said  to  be  injured  as  much  as  if  his  property  had 
been  interfered  with.  Here,  indeed,  it  may  be  readily 
shown  that  it  is  as  much  the  interest  of  society  that  men 
should  not  interfere  with  one  another's  freedom,  or  mutu- 
ally inflict  positive  or  negative  pain,  as  that  they  should 
not  'meddle  with  one  another's  property ;  and  hence  the 
obligation  of  justice  in  such  matters  may  be  deduced. 
But  if  a  man  merely  thinks  ill  of  another,  or  feels  mali- 
ciously towards  him  without  due  cause,  he  is  properly  said 
to  be  unjust.  In  this  case  it  would  be  hard  to  prove  that 


xi.]  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS.  201 

any  injury  is  done  to  society  by  the  evil  thought;  but 
there  is  no  question  that  it  will  be  stigmatised  as  an  injus- 
tice ;  and  the  offender  himself,  in  another  frame  of  mind, 
is  often  ready  enough  to  admit  that  he  has  failed  to  be 
just  towards  his  neighbour.  However,  it  may  plausibly 
be  said  that  so  slight  a  barrier  lies  between  thought  and 
speech,  that  any  moral  quality  attached  to  the  latter  is 
easily  transferred  to  the  former ;  and  that,  since  open  slan- 
der is  obviously  opposed  to  the  interests  of  society,  injus- 
tice of  thought,  which  is  silent  slander,  must  become  inex- 
tricably associated  with  the  same  blame. 

But,  granting  the  utility  to  society  of  all  kinds  of  be- 
nevolence and  justice,  why  should  the  quality  of  those  vir- 
tues involve  the  sense  of  moral  obligation  ? 

Hume  answers  this  question  in  the  fifth  section,  entitled, 
Why  Utility  Pleases.  He  repudiates  the  deduction  of 
moral  approbation  from  self-love,  and  utterly  denies  that 
we  approve  of  benevolent  or  just  actions  because  we  think 
of  the  benefits  which  they  are  likely  to  confer  indirectly 
on  ourselves.  The  source  of  the  approbation  with  which 
we  view  an  act  useful  to  society  must  be  sought  elsewhere; 
and,  in  fact,  is  to  be  found  in  that  feeling  which  is  called 
sympathy. 

"No  man  is  absolutely  indifferent  to  the  happiness  and 
misery  of  others.  The  first  has  a  natural  tendency  to  give 
pleasure,  the  second  pain.  This  every  one  may  find  in  him- 
self. It  is  not  probable  that  these  principles  can  be  resolved 
into  principles  more  simple  and  universal,  whatever  attempts 
may  have  been  made  for  that  purpose."— (IV.  p.  294,  note.) 

Other  men's  joys  and  sorrows  are  not  spectacles  at 
which  we  remain  unmoved : — 

"...  The  view  of  the  former,  whether  in  its  causes  or  ef- 


202  HUME.  [CHAP. 

fects,  like  sunshine,  or  the  prospect  of  well-cultivated  plains 
(to  carry  our  pretensions  no  higher),  communicates  a  secret 
joy  and  satisfaction ;  the  appearance  of  the  latter,  like  a 
lowering  cloud  or  barren  landscape,  throws  a  melancholy 
damp  over  the  imagination.  And  this  concession  being 
once  made,  the  difficulty  is  over;  and  a  natural  unforced 
interpretation  of  the  phenomena  of  human  life  will  after- 
wards, we  hope,  prevail  among  all  speculative  inquirers." — 
(TV.  p.  320.) 

The  moral  approbation,  therefore,  with  which  we  regard 
acts  of  justice  or  benevolence  rests  upon  their  utility  to 
society,  because  the  perception  of  that  utility,  or,  in  other 
words,  of  the  pleasure  which  they  give  to  other  men, 
arouses  a  feeling  of  sympathetic  pleasure  in  ourselves. 
The  feeling  of  obligation  to  be  just,  or  of  the  duty  of  jus- 
tice, arises  out  of  that  association  of  moral  approbation  or 
disapprobation  with  one's  own  actions,  which  is  what  we 
call  conscience.  To  fail  in  justice,  or  in  benevolence,  is  to 
be  displeased  with  oneself.  But  happiness  is  impossible 
without  inward  self-approval ;  and,  hence,  every  man  who 
has  any  regard  to  his  own  happiness  and  welfare,  will  find 
his  best  reward  in  the  practice  of  every  moral  duty.  On 
this  topic  Hume  expends  much  eloquence. 

"  But  what  philosophical  truths  can  be  more  advantageous 
to  society  than  these  here  delivered,  which  represent  virtue 
in  all  her  genuine  and  most  engaging  charms,  and  make  us 
approach  her  with  ease,  familiarity,  and  affection  ?  The  dis- 
mal dress  falls  off,  with  which  many  divines  and  some  phi- 
losophers have  covered  her ;  and  nothing  appears  but  gentle- 
ness, humanity,  beneficence,  affability ;  nay,  even  at  proper 
intervals,  play,  frolic,  and  gaiety.  She  talks  not  of  useless 
austerities  and  rigours,  suffering  and  self-denial.  She  de- 
clares that  her  sole  purpose  is  to  make  her  votaries,  and  all 
mankind,  during  every  period  of  their  existence,  if  possible, 


xi.]  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS.  203 

cheerful  and  happy ;  nor  does  she  ever  willingly  part  with 
any  pleasure  but  in  hopes  of  ample  compensation  in  some 
other  period  of  their  lives.  The  sole  trouble  which  she  de- 
mands is  that  of  just  calculation,  and  a  steady  preference  of 
the  greater  happiness.  And  if  any  austere  pretenders  ap- 
proach her,  enemies  to  joy  and  pleasure,  she  either  rejects 
them  as  hypocrites  and  deceivers,  or,  if  she  admit  them  in 
her  train,  they  are  ranked,  however,  among  the  least  favour- 
ed of  her  votaries. 

"And,  indeed,  to  drop  all  figurative  expression,  what  hopes 
can  we  ever  have  of  engaging  mankind  to  a  practice  which 
we  confess  full  of  austerity  and  rigour  ?  Or  what  theory  of 
morals  can  ever  serve  any  useiul  purpose,  unless  it  can  show, 
by  a  particular  detail,  that  all  the  duties  which  it  recom- 
mends are  also  the  true  interest  of  each  individual?  The 
peculiar  advantage  of  the  foregoing  system  seems  to  be,  that 
it  furnishes  proper  mediums  for  that  purpose." — (TV.  p.  360.) 

In  this  paean  to  virtue,  there  is  more  of  the  dance  meas- 
ure than  will  sound  appropriate  in  the  ears  of  most  of  the 
pilgrims  who  toil  painfully,  not  without  many  a  stumble 
and  many  a  bruise,  along  the  rough  and  steep  roads  which 
lead  to  the  higher  life. 

Virtue  is  undoubtedly  beneficent ;  but  the  man  is  to  be 
envied  to  whom  her  ways  seem  in  anywise  playful.  And, 
though  she  may  not  talk  much  about  suffering  and  self- 
denial,  her  silence  on  that  topic  may  be  accounted  for  on 
the  principle  fa  va  sans  dire.  The  calculation  of  the 
greatest  happiness  is  not  performed  quite  so  easily  as  a 
rule  of  three  sum ;  while,  in  the  hour  of  temptation,  the 
question  will  crop  up,  whether,  as  something  has  to  be 
sacrificed,  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  not  worth  two  in  the 
bush ;  whether  it  may  not  be  as  well  to  give  up  the  prob- 
lematical greater  happiness  in  the  future  for  a  certain 
great  happiness  in  the  present,  and 
O 


804  HUME.  (CHAP. 

"  Buy  the  merry  madness  of  one  hour 
With  the  long  irksomeness  of  following  time." l 

If  mankind  cannot  be  engaged  in  practices  "full  of 
austerity  and  rigour,"  by  the  love  of  righteousness  and 
the  fear  of  evil,  without  seeking  for  other  compensation 
than  that  which  flows  from  the  gratification  of  such  love 
and  the  consciousness  of  escape  from  debasement,  they 
are  in  a  bad  case.  For  they  will  assuredly  find  that  virtue 
presents  no  very  close  likeness  to  the  sportive  leader  of 
the  joyous  hours  in  Hume's  rosy  picture;  but  that  she 
is  an  awful  Goddess,  whose  ministers  are  the  Furies,  and 
whose  highest  reward  is  peace. 

It  is  not  improbable  that  Hume  would  have  qualified 
all  this  as  enthusiasm  or  fanaticism,  or  both  ;  but  he  virt- 
ually admits  it : — 

"  Now,  as  virtue  is  an  end,  and  is  desirable  on  its  own  ac- 
count, without  fee  or  reward,  merely  for  the  immediate  sat- 
isfaction which  it  conveys,  it  is  requisite  that  there  should 
be  some  sentiment  which  it  touches ;  some  internal  taste  or 
feeling,  or  whatever  you  please  to  call  it,  which  distinguishes 
moral  good  and  evil,  and  which  embraces  the  one  and  rejects 
the  other. 

"  Thus  the  distinct  boundaries  and  offices  of  reason  and  of 
taste  are  easily  ascertained.  The  former  conveys  the  knowl- 
edge of  truth  and  falsehood :  The  latter  gives  the  sentiment 
of  beauty  and  deformity,  vice  and  virtue.  The  one  discovers 
objects  as  they  really  stand  in  nature,  without  addition  or 
diminution :  The  other  has  a  productive  faculty :  and  gilding 
and  staining  all  natural  objects  with  the  colours  borrowed 
from  internal  sentiment,  raises  in  a  manner  a  new  creation. 
Reason  being  cool  and  disengaged,  is  no  motive  to  action, 
and  directs  only  the  impulse  received  from  appetite  or  in- 

1  Ben  Jonson's  Cynthia's  Revel»,  act  i 


xi.J  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS.  206 

clination,  by  showing  us  the  means  of  attaining  happiness 
or  avoiding  misery.  Taste,  as  it  gives  pleasure  or  pain,  and 
thereby  constitutes  happiness  or  misery,  becomes  a  motive 
to  action,  and  is  the  first  spring  or  impulse  to  desire  and  vo- 
lition. From  circumstances  and  relations  known  or  sup- 
posed, the  former  leads  us  to  the  discovery  of  the  concealed 
and  unknown.  After  all  circumstances  and  relations  are  laid 
before  us,  the  latter  makes  us  feel  from  the  whole  a  new  sen- 
timent of  blame  or  approbation.  The  standard  of  the  one, 
being  founded  on  the  nature  of  things,  is  external  and  inflex- 
ible, even  by  the  will  of  the  Supreme  Being :  The  standard 
of  the  other,  arising  from  the  internal  frame  and  constitution 
of  animals,  is  ultimately  derived  from  the  Supreme  Will, 
which  bestowed  on  each  being  its  peculiar  nature,  and  ar- 
ranged the  several  classes  and  orders  of  existence." — (IV. 
p.  376—7.) 

Hume  has  not  discussed  the  theological  theory  of  the 
obligations  of  morality,  but  it  is  obviously  in  accordance 
with  his  view  of  the  nature  of  those  obligations.  Under 
its  theological  aspect,  morality  is  obedience  to  the  will  of 
God;  and  the  ground  for  such  obedience  is  two -fold; 
either  we  ought  to  obey  God  because  He  will  punish  us  if 
we  disobey  Him,  which  is  an  argument  based  on  the  utili- 
ty of  obedience ;  or  our  obedience  ought  to  flow  from  our 
love  towards  God,  which  is  an  argument  based  on  pure 
feeling,  and  for  which  no  reason  can  be  given.  For,  if  any 
man  should  say  that  he  takes  no  pleasure  in  the  content 
plation  of  the  ideal  of  perfect  holiness,  or,  in  other  words, 
that  he  does  not  love  God,  the  attempt  to  argue  him  into 
acquiring  that  pleasure  would  be  as  hopeless  as  the  en- 
deavour to  persuade  Peter  Bell  of  the  "  witchery  of  the 
soft  blue  sky." 

In  which  ever  way  we  look  at  the  matter,  morality  is 
based  on  feeling,  not  on  reason ;  though  reason  alone  ia 


206  HUME.  four.  u 

competent  to  trace  out  the  effects  of  our  actions,  and 
thereby  dictate  conduct.  Justice  is  founded  on  the  love 
of  one'j»  neighbour;  and  goodness  is  a  kind  of  beauty. 
The  moral  law,  like  the  laws  of  physical  nature,  rests  in 
the  long  run  upon  instinctive  intuitions,  and  is  neither 
more  nor  less  "  innate  "  and  "  necessary  "  than  they  are. 
Some  people  cannot  by  any  means  be  got  to  understand 
the  first  book  of  Euclid ;  but  the  truths  of  mathematics 
are  no  less  necessary  and  binding  on  the  great  mass  of 
mankind.  Some  there  are  who  cannot  feel  the  difference 
between  the  Sonata  Appassionato,  and  Cherry  Ripe;  or 
between  a  gravestone-cutter's  cherub  and  the  Apollo  Bel- 
videre;  but  the  canons  of  art  are  none  the  less  acknowl- 
edged. White  some  there  may  be  who,  devoid  of  sympa- 
thy, are  incapable  of  a  sense  of  duty ;  but  neither  does 
their  existence  affect  the  foundations  of  morality.  Such 
pathological  deviations  from  true  manhood  are  merely  the 
halt,  the  lame,  and  the  blind  of  the  world  of  consciousness ; 
and  the  anatomist  of  the  mind  leaves  them  aside,  as  the 
anatomist  of  the  body  would  ignore  abnormal  specimens. 

And  as  there  are  Pascals  and  Mozarts,  Newtons  and 
Raffaelles,  in  whom  the  innate  faculty  for  science  or  art 
seems  to  need  but  a  touch  to  spring  into  full  vigour,  and 
through  whom  the  human  race  obtains  new  possibilities 
of  knowledge  and  new  conceptions  of  beauty:  so  there 
have  been  men  of  moral  genius,  to  whom  we  owe  ideals  of 
duty  and  visions  of  moral  perfection,  which  ordinary  man- 
kind could  never  have  attained ;  though,  happily  for  them, 
they  can  feel  the  beauty  of  a  vision,  which  lay  beyond  the 
reach  of  their  dull  imaginations,  and  count  life  well  spent 
in  shaping  some  faint  image  of  it  in  the  actual  world. 

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